


Fool Yourself

by Ceeahrr



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 101,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceeahrr/pseuds/Ceeahrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky is out on parole and in law school. Bridget is struggling with the ethics of dating someone who had recently been under her care. Erica is married and starts teaching at Franky's university. What could go wrong? And I definitely don't own most of these characters. Except Michael deMedici. She's mine. All mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Definitely Happening

  
“So what do you think?”  
  
Franky circled Bridget’s waist from behind, pressed along the entire length of her body. Kissed her neck. “What do I think of what?”  
  
“The house.” She turned in Franky’s arms. “Do you think you can manage here for a bit?”  
  
Franky kissed her, humming against her lips, then worked her way down Gidge’s neck. “I’ve been in a cell for five years. I could sleep in mud pit. Long as it’s nowhere near Wentworth.”  
  
Bridget was losing her ability to focus and she needed to lay ground rules.  She had picked Franky up barely an hour ago. So she pushed away reluctantly. “I’m having a beer. You fancy something? I’ve got wine…”  
  
“I fancy a fuck, Gidge. What gives?” Franky grinned at her from across the island in the kitchen.  
  
Bridget had retreated around it toward the refrigerator needing to put some space between herself and the overly eager youngster. “Look, Franky,” she smiled to soften the blow of the news she was about to deliver. The limits she was going to set. She didn’t figure Franky was going to be big on boundaries for a while. But what Bridget did know is that the younger woman would re-adjust to life outside prison much faster and in a more healthy way with some structure than without it.  
  
“I need to set some ground rules.”  
  
Franky’s eyebrow went up and she cocked her head. She sat on a stool on her side of the island. Bridget slid a beer across to her.  
  
“You can stay here while you get on your feet. But it needs to be with a fast track toward getting into school, getting employed, and finding somewhere else to live.”  
  
Franky frowned. “What do you mean? I thought we were settling down here in domestic bliss?”  
  
Bridget closed her eyes, steeled herself for Franky’s disappointment. The work of getting her to trust again. _Damn. Should have had this conversation in the car._ When she opened them Franky’s mouth was curled into a half smile.  
  
“Kidding, Gidge. Not a problem. But we still get to fuck, aye?”  
  
Bridget smiled back. She was jonesing to get the ex-inmate naked. But first things first. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a bad idea. In fact, there are regulations about a therapist becoming involved with a patient,” she paused, gauging Franky’s reaction. She seemed unmoved. “Technically I should give you a two-year window from when I last treated you to when I try to get you into bed.”  
  
“Fuckall, Gidge! No way!” Franky stood, bristling.  
  
The older woman held up a hand urging calmness. “You need to know this, Franky. You need to know you have a choice here. That you aren’t beholden to me for helping you through some very difficult emotional issues,” she paused. Franky sat back down and took a pull from her beer. “But I did open that door with you back at Wentworth. My feelings haven’t changed. I want to help you, to see you succeed. And I very much want to have sex with you. You can stay here, but in the guest bedroom. We only sleep together on designated date nights,” Franky whinged loudly, “and you get to say no, Franky. If this isn’t what you want. At any point. I’m not going anywhere whatever you decide.”  
  
Franky stood again and slowly made her way around the bench. “So you’re saying I won’t have to earn my rent money on my back with you? A little rut for a little food?”  
  
“Franky…” Bridget scolded.  
  
She pressed herself against Gidge, pushing her against the sink. “Cuz I was kinda hoping that would be the case,” she said in a low voice, sliding her arms around the smaller woman’s waist, and kissing her. Decadently.  
  
_Oh fuck. This is going to be so good._ Bridget let the younger woman dive deeper and deeper into her mouth. Then pulled back. “I’m serious, Franky,” she panted, backing up a bit and taking her soon-to-be-lover’s face in both hands. She wanted to be clear. This needed to be Franky’s choice. “We can stop now. No harm, no foul.”  
  
Franky took Gidget’s hands and placed them on her breasts. Then she grabbed Gidge’s arse, shoving a thigh between her legs. “Where’s your bed?” she asked against her neck, licking and sucking there.  
  
Bridget’s eyes rolled back in her head. She couldn’t take this much longer. “Franky,” she squeezed, pressed her thumbs against the younger woman’s nipples. Feeling them harden under her touch. “Tell me you want this.”  
  
Franky lifted up, securing Gidge’s legs around her waist and walked into the lounge area they had come through upon entry. The ex-con’s minimal belongings were still by the front door where she’d dropped them. She laid down on the couch, unbuttoning Gidge’s jeans, sliding her hand down inside the front. “You talk too much,” Franky said against her lips, then dove in again, this time with her tongue and her fingers.  
  
Bridget didn’t say another word for a very long time.  
  
Four months later Franky had secured a room in a flat near campus. She had two other roommates — uni students, both guys. Both undergraduates. When it came to applying for housing her prison record and the old footage of her flinging hot oil that permanently disfigured a popular chef/presenter meant the nicer options had rejected her outright. These guys were obnoxious and filthy — not much into cleaning or studying. But she had her own room and ensuite. And spent most of her time on campus, at work or at Gidge’s anyway. And they didn’t harass her or mess with her stuff. Way better than Wentworth.  
  
Not nearly as nice as Gidge’s place in Fitzroy. And Franky loved that neighborhood. Lot’s of different people from all walks of life. Great food. Great shops.  
  
And Gidge. They spent almost all of their down time together. The sex was fantastic, but more than that, Franky found that being with Bridget Westfall made her feel secure. Grounded. Safe. And cared for, which was an entirely new sensation. The former inmate was used to relationships based on taking as much as possible before getting out. Bridget gave and gave and gave. For the first time in her life, even though she worked and went to school and and lived in a shitty rat hole of a flat and barely had any down time, she felt abundance in her life. Possibility. She wasn’t hungry in the spiritual sense, like she’d been since she was born. For the first time in her life she felt full. Genuinely happy.  
  
They had different tastes in music and arts and food. But at least with food, the younger woman was greatly expanding the psychologist’s palette and loving every minute of cooking. Franky was getting used to being with the older woman. Getting attached. Maybe even falling for her.  
  
Love? Was Franky falling in love with Bridget Westfall? _Wait. I definitely love school. I kinda love my job. I hate my roomies. Do I love Gidge?_  
  
She looked across the lounge now. She and her girlfriend — they had agreed they were dating exclusively — sat with legs entangled, sharing a soft New Zealand lambswool throw. Franky had a law text in her lap. Bridget was reading a psych journal. She also had a glass of wine. It was Saturday, but Franky had a lot more reading to get through before she could start on the vino.  
  
Bridget looked up, catching Franky staring at her. “What?”  
  
Franky smiled. “Busted. I think I’m in lust with you, Gidge,” she said, pushing her book onto the floor and crawling along the lounge until she was laying on top of her girlfriend, kissing her.  
  
_Ixnay with the ovelay, Doyle. Chill. It’s been four months. Don’t be a dick._  
  
  
**************  
  
Erica Davidson Pearson hurried down the hallway of the the Melbourne University Law School, trying to get her bearings. It had been barely twenty four hours since she’d agreed to take over a second year course in Criminal Law and Procedure from her friend and colleague, Hiram Walker, who had just had a stroke and would not be able to complete his teaching responsibilities for the semester.  
  
It was just the opportunity Erica had been waiting for. She had taught law before going to Wentworth, but after leaving the prison she went back into practice with her father. In the midst of wedding planning and trying to reconcile her ‘sexual confusion’, she hadn’t been up to returning to the classroom setting. Too many young, eager faces reminding her of who she’d left behind when she walked away without a word. So she’d gone for easy. Back in with Da. Focusing on confirming her heterosexuality by marrying Mark. Being the wife and ambitious social and political climber she’d been before that goddamn kiss.  
  
But that was several years ago. And she was again bored to tears working corporate law with her father. Since a return to Wentworth was out of the question, she made her interest to get back to the school known to her former faculty colleagues. By unfortunate happenstance for Hiram, here she was about to jump into the middle of term two, year two students seeking their law degree. Erica was exhilarated.  
  
She arrived in the classroom just as the students filed in. She busied herself at the podium, placing her notes, the syllabus and the student roster there, then taking a deep breath. It had been awhile since she’d been in front of a group of young people. They could be both energizing and frightening. But she was ready.  
  
As the hour turned, she went to the door closing it then surveyed the room again. It was set in a typical manner: a semi-circle of tiered seats all centered around the lectern at the bottom in the middle of the room. A large whiteboard, which doubled as a film screen, was behind the podium. She walked over to it and began to address the class.  
  
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” A round of hearty “Oi!”’s greeted her, and a couple of low, wolfish whistles of appreciation. She smiled. “I am Professor Pearson. I am sorry to inform you that Professor Walker will not be back this semester.”  
  
A din of conversation, murmured questions and concerned noises flowed to her.  
  
Erica raised her voice. “He has had a stroke but is recovering well. If any of you are interested in seeing him, visiting him at hospital while he recuperates, I think that would lift his spirits. I’ll write that information on the board at the end of class.” She swept her eyes around the room, nearly humming with pleasure at being there again. Teaching again. This was going to be fun. “Meanwhile, let’s get started…” She began the barrage of questioning that she knew should be happening at this point in the semester for the Criminal Law and Procedure course, hoping it wasn’t repeating things Walker had already covered.  
  
Soon she felt chemistry with the students. They seemed very engaged with her, paying close attention and eager to answer her dialectical drilling. As she neared the end of the two-hour session, she paused and asked if anyone had any questions for her. Several hands went up. Starting with the left side of the room, she looked at the seating roster, then called out the student by name. When she reached the second to the last face on the right, toward the back of the room, her heart stopped.  
  
She didn’t need the roster to identify this distractingly gorgeous young woman. Green eyes and a cocky smile, the hand still in the air, the other spinning a pen between her fingers.  
  
“Aren’t you going to call on me, Miss Davidson?” Franky said, a little louder than she needed to.  
  
Erica forced herself to breathe. Of all the people she had expected to see today…. _Fuck_. “I’m called Professor Pearson now, Franky.” She couldn’t help but return the smile. She had missed the cheeky charmer.  “Does your question have anything at all to do with this class or the course material?”  
  
All eyes in the class turned to stare at Franky.  
  
Her hand went down, her smile widened. “It does not… Professor.”  
  
“Then perhaps it can wait until after class or for office hours?” Erica thought she did a damn good job of appearing unflappable, even if her insides had turned to jelly.  
  
“It can.”  
  
“Thank you.” Erica moved on to the next and final student, answered that question, then ended the session.  
  
With class dismissed the students began filing out. Erica watched Franky descending the stairs toward her and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She curled one hand there, kneading the tightened muscles and looked away as another student approached her asking for the information about Professor Walker.  
  
“Right, right,” she said distractedly and went to the whiteboard, pulling out her mobile to find the information. When she’d written it out she took a deep breath and turned around. Franky was gone. She exhaled in relief, packed her things back into her satchel and headed for Walker’s office; now Professor Pearson’s, which was several floors up in the building.  
  
She took the stairs to give herself time to cool down, calm her racing pulse. Her office hours didn’t start for another hour and when she finally reached the room she closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Sitting down at the desk, she absentmindedly tried to familiarize herself with the space, opening and closing drawers, but then stopped and put her face in her hands.  
  
_What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Franky Doyle is in my class. Franky Doyle. Franky  goddamn Doyle. Shit!_ She hadn’t seen the ex-prisoner since the day she’d left Wentworth. She had vowed to herself, and silently to her husband, that she would never see Franky again.  
  
And right at this moment, the visceral memory of that goddamn kiss was rippling across Erica’s skin. She shivered, moving her hands to her hair and replaying the incident in her mind. When Franky had assaulted her. And she’d liked it. When Franky kissed her. And she’d kissed her back.  
  
Being at Wentworth initially had seemed a perfect fit for her. When she’d started the education programs, the women all responded very well. Even her attraction to and flirting with Franky was a game well played by them both. The proximity to violence, overt sexuality, dominance and submission as naturally played out between prison staff and prison inmates; all this had intrigued Erica to no end. Really got her juices flowing. She couldn’t wait to go to work every morning at Wentworth.  
  
Until she’d been made governor. Her relationship with Franky needed to shift then and the green-eyed charmer resisted the change. Erica found that she didn’t want it either, that in fact, she missed the regularly scheduled tutoring sessions with the ridiculously intelligent younger woman; and their easy banter. She found herself looking for excuses to see Franky, summon her to her office. And it wasn’t until she stood by while Channing verbally dressed down the inmate, accusing her of something Erica knew Franky had not done, sentencing her to five weeks in the slot… The wounded betrayal on Franky’s face had nearly broken Erica’s heart. And also made her understand that what she felt for the prisoner was more than a girl crush.  
  
The next five weeks were the hardest of Erica Davidson’s emotional life. She tried to rationalize, blame, dissuade herself from feeling so much for Franky. And every day she missed her more. Franky even invaded her dreams. Intensely erotic, sexual dreams that woke her up panting on the edge of orgasm, aching for Franky’s scent, her touch.  
  
But by the end of the five week stint, she had firmly decided this was not to be. These sexual… appetites… were ridiculously perverted and to be suppressed at all cost. And what did she think was going to happen, that she would somehow have a torrid affair with someone under her care? A prisoner? She just needed to set new, firm boundaries. Stop letting Franky get under her skin. They could be friendly but nothing else. Nothing good could come of any further interaction with the inmate. At best Franky would resent her — fine, as long as she completed her coursework and sentence and got out of there. She didn’t belong in prison. Erica intended to see that she got out. At worst, Franky would act out in a way that added time to her sentence. Erica intended to prevent that as well. She just needed to draw a line and see that Franky respected it.  
  
The morning she was to pull Franky from the slot, put her back in the general population, she announced to Mark over breakfast that she was ready to set a date. Time to end the eight year engagement. He had been over the moon and Erica had driven to work feeling more happy and confident than usual. And instead of slipping her engagement band off before going into the facility, she left it on. Declaring to everyone, but particularly a cheeky green-eyed seductress, that Erica Davidson was not available. Ever.  
  
And fuck if that hadn’t backfired all to hell. Instead of accepting the message Erica’s engagement ring sent, Franky Doyle reacted with more aggressive and overtly sexual behavior than before. The governor then found herself drawn to the increased hostility like a moth to a flame; and Franky was definitely on fire after five weeks of solitary confinement. Honestly, Erica was completely out of her element, bewildered by her lack of control around Franky. And excited by it too.  
  
Erica stood up and rifled her fingers through her hair, bringing herself back to the present moment. This spiral was ridiculous. She had been married three years but with Mark for nearly eleven. Franky was a young person — an incredibly intelligent young woman — who Erica had taken a personal interest in and would continue to support to excel. She was actually quite pleased to realize that Franky must have finished uni and a year of law school in three years if she was in second year law now. An incredibly journey — definitely something to celebrate. Maybe she had actually made a difference for the women at Wentworth, and for this one in particular. She would mentor Franky moving forward. That was all.  
  
She pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and took a long, refreshing, calming drink. Then pulled her papers out of her satchel starting to review the coursework for the rest of the semester. She’d only got the call about taking over the class yesterday afternoon. And between tying things up, handing over case files to associates at her father’s firm and getting her administrative paperwork and credentials reactivated at Melbourne University School of Law, she had scant time to actually dig into what had been covered, what was left to teach, and how the students were performing.  
  
She heard her office door open. “Office hours aren’t for another 45 minutes,” she said without looking up. “If you could come back a bit later,” she did look up then. And nearly drowned in a jade sea.  
  
Franky Doyle closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Staring at her. Grinning that cheeky grin that both infuriated Erica and made her pulse race. She willed her heart to stop it’s hammering as she found herself smiling back.  
  
“Want to know my question, Erica?”  
  
_God. That voice._ She fought the urge to correct the address. Again. _It’s Professor Pearson, Franky._ “Probably not. But ask away.”  
  
Franky licked her lips. Erica didn’t look at her tongue. “Well,” she started, but then her voice faltered. She looked down at her fingernails. “Why did you leave?” Her voice broke. When she looked up again her face was a mask of pain and anguish.  
  
“Oh jesus,” Erica stood up quickly making her way around the desk. “God, Franky,” she approached the younger woman, her heart aching. The plan to maintain a professional, professorial, mentor-like distance from the student went completely out the window. She had conveniently forgotten that she wasn’t in control at all in their tete-a-tete’s. It was Franky. Always Franky laying down the terms of engagement. Leading Erica along a path that she felt compelled to follow.  
  
She stopped arms’ distance from the brunette, then cupped her face with both hands. “Do you really not know why I couldn’t stay?”  
  
“Was it because of me?” Franky asked.  
  
Erica nodded her head.  
  
Franky pushed her hands away and replied angrily, her face reddening. “That fucking hurt, Erica! You never said anything! Never visited. Never…” A single tear slowly made it’s way down Franky’s face. “Fuck!” she swiped at the tear. She’d worked out a lot of anger in sessions with Gidget. The pain was harder to accept without masking it with anger. But acceptance would lead to release instead of the type of self-destruction she had embraced before. This pain was real. Still fresh. And she let Erica see it. “We had something, Erica,” she said, sadly.  
  
Erica knew about Franky’s abandonment issues. Knew that her course of action years ago might alienate Franky permanently. But she had no other choice; and she wondered now at Franky being here in her office. Owning her emotions. Erica was awed at her personal growth and even more drawn to her because of it. She didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember thinking, didn’t remember how any of it happened. How she pulled Franky’s face towards hers while leaning in, whispered a heart-felt apology, and kissed her.  
  
Franky lost herself for a moment before taking a step back, blinking in surprise.  Still angry but less so than seconds before. “Fuck,” she said again, her hands finding Erica’s hips, pulling their bodies together. It was Franky who leaned in this time. “This is not why I came here,” she said, slightly breathless now, drawn again to the sweet lips she’d craved from the moment she had first met Erica Davidson. Already wanting more than the spark of desire that ignited in her when they kissed now. This time she pressed her tongue against Erica’s lips demanding entry.  
  
And Erica eagerly gave it. Marveling at the feel of Franky’s tongue sliding against hers. The electricity that arced from where their mouths touched to her scalp, through her entire body to the tips of her fingers — which were now tangled in Franky’s hair — to the ends of her toes. She’d never been kissed like this by anyone. Never felt so much passion; never felt such desire.  
  
The kiss went on, deepening, until Erica thought she might pass out from the adrenaline coursing through her body. It was instantly addictive. Then she thought she was falling.  
  
Franky pulled away. “Fuck…” she looked down at Erica, bewildered. “This can’t happen.”  
  
Erica wasn’t ready to stop and clutched at Franky frantically. As she regained her senses, she realized they had somehow made their way to the old leather couch that came with the office and she was on her back, Franky on top of her, their legs and groins pressed together obscenely. The professor became painfully aware of the throbbing between her legs and finally let go of the younger woman, moving out from under her to the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Erica had no idea what to say, still breathless and dazed from that kiss.  
  
Franky half laughed and half sobbed as she moved into a seated position, elbows on knees, face in hands. “You make me fucking crazy. You know that Erica?”  
  
Erica laughed at this. Despite every nerve in her body being on fire, her emotions a roiling mess and her head hazy, she recognized a familiar ease and comfort — the rapport she’d developed with Franky so many years ago. It was still there. “Ahhhh. The feeling is mutual, Franky. I never did quite know what to do with you.” She reached over tucking a lock of hair behind Franky’s ear. She was having a hard time keeping her hands off the younger woman.  
  
Franky didn’t look at her. “I missed you.” She swiped an arm across her eyes, clearing the tears, and began examining her fingernails again.  
  
Erica remembered this gesture. It happened when Franky was feeling vulnerable or needy. It didn’t happen often and she’d already seen it twice in only a few minutes. She reached out to caress the over examined digits, thought better of it, and stood, moving back to her desk.  
  
“I’m sorry, Franky,” she said sincerely, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I really am. It killed me, leaving like that.” She sighed. “I had developed an inappropriate,” the younger woman looked up at her then, eyes twinkling, “attachment to you.”  
  
Franky’s eyebrow went up. “Inappropriate?” She repeated, smiling rakishly now. “There’s nothing inappropriate about wanting to fuck me, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica bristled, but couldn’t honestly deny that she wanted to have sex with Franky Doyle. She just wished Franky didn’t still read her so easily. _God the girl gets under my skin._ Yet the jab was comfortingly familiar — part of the verbal sparring she and Franky enjoyed at Wentworth — and she couldn’t help but smile back. “It was only going to lead to trouble. For both of us.” Erica tried for an honest exchange without overt sexual dialogue further stoking their already over-heated interaction. “I really wanted you to get out of there, Franky, make parole. Finish your studies. You were on a good path and you didn’t need me to finish it.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Franky frowned.”I…”  
  
“You would have kept pushing me. The only result, even if I did give in,” Franky’s eyes sparkled now, “would have been you in the slot or additional charges and more time. Think about it.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Come over here and sit down,” Erica motioned to one of two chairs across from the desk. _Can we just sit here and talk like regular people? Like we weren’t just about to tear each other’s clothes off a few minutes ago? Please, Franky._ “Tell me how you’ve been, what you’re up to outside of class. And what kind of law you think you might want to practice.” _Jesus Mary mother of god please let us have a normal conversation._  
  
To her surprise, Franky sat.  
  
“Did you think about me at all?” she asked sincerely.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Like, a lot,” she held her arms out wide, “or constantly?” She stretched her arms out wider, cocking her head and grinning at Erica, waggling her eyebrows.  
  
_Maybe a semi-normal conversation._ “Stop it,” Erica tried not to smile. “So how are you? And how did you manage to finish enough coursework to be in 2L in three years?”  
  
Franky leaned back in the chair, put her feet up on the desk. Erica slapped them down. “I was bored without you to play with. So I got focused.”  
  
Erica smiled, genuinely pleased. “I’m so happy for you, Franky.”  
  
“And I met someone. I really care about her. That’s why this,” Franky gestured between the two of them, “can’t happen.”  
  
Erica sighed. It would be ridiculous at this point to try to deny the attraction. “Well since I’m married I would have to agree,” she said a bit defensively, feeling a disturbing pang of jealousy and loss upon hearing Franky was in a relationship. “And you’re my student. Definitely against the rules. But that wouldn’t have stopped you before…” S _top fishing. What the hell is the matter with you?_  
  
“I’m not that person anymore. Professor Pearson,” Franky said, meaning it. Thinking about how happy she was with Gidge. “So who’s the lucky guy? Or girl?” She leaned forward placing her elbows on Erica’s desk and grinned conspiratorially. “You know there’s a raging lesbian just dying to get out of you, Erica.”  
  
“No. There. Is. Not,” she sputtered.  
  
“And please tell me it’s not that wanker you were engaged to when you were thinking about fucking me.”  
  
“Christ, Franky!” Now she was annoyed. “Mark is a very good man. I love him.” She wanted to mean it. She thought she did all the times she’d said it. Except during her time at Wentworth, which was another reason she needed to get out of there. But just these few minutes with her former inmate, the onslaught of emotion, sensuality, desire. She’d never once felt that with her husband. She needed to end this conversation. “Look. I…”  
  
Franky’s mobile buzzed and she pulled it from the pocket of her leather jacket. “Shit. Gotta go to work.” She stood up and made her way to the door. “I’m a barista at Seven Seeds, edge of campus, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons until close. Come over and I’ll buy you a cappuccino.” She stopped in front of the door and turned around.  
  
Erica stood up, disoriented by the quick shift in energy and momentum. She realized she wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Franky just yet. She approached the younger woman but stopped short of actually touching her. “I’ll do that,” she said.  
  
Franky watched her for a moment, then pulled her into her arms, hugging her tightly, pushing her nose into Erica’s hair and inhaling deeply. Erica fought the urge to moan and rub against her like a cat as she wrapped her arms around Franky’s shoulders, hugging her back. Franky was slightly taller in booted heels. If Erica turned her head slightly, she could take Franky’s earlobe in her teeth. She fought the urge.  
  
“Our chemistry is crazy hot but our timing is fucked,” Franky whispered into her ear, then kissed her there. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun this semester, though.” She let go of Erica, pleased to see the look of bemused, aroused consternation there. Then she kissed her on the mouth, swiftly but deeply and thoroughly.  
  
Erica pushed her away. But not until she felt she’d been properly kissed again. “Franky!” She feigned exasperation.  
  
The student smirked at her then put both hands up in a show of submission. “I know. Won’t happen again.” The smirk shifted to genuine affection, then Franky turned to leave.  
  
Erica felt a pang of loss for the second time. “Don’t get attached to that coffee shop. We need to get you an internship at a firm.”  
  
Franky was in the corridor now. “You gonna help me?”  
  
“Of course!” Erica said, standing in her doorway, watching Franky retreat backwards down the hall. Still smiling at her.  
  
“Come for a cuppa.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Then she was gone. 


	2. Houston, We Have a Problem

“Are you sure? I’m giving you an out on this one, love,” Bridget asked nervously as Franky zipped the back of her dress. They were on their way to the Annual Melbourne Association of Psychologists annual gala.  
  
Earlier in the day, at her office, Bridget Westfall had received an extremely disturbing message by post. The envelope was unmarked. Her administrative aid had opened it and found it mildly disturbing, but didn’t have any context to make sense of it. But Bridget did.  
  
It was a photo of her and Franky kissing outside her townhouse — could have been any morning over the past six months. Franky often spent the night. They parted ways in the morning with a kiss. Usually inside the house, but occasionally they were both in such a rush that there was a quick peck outside instead of the raunchy snog inside. She was well aware she was skirting the boundaries of the ethical parameters of relationships with patients, and tried very hard to not be too obvious that she and the ex prisoner were in a full blown sexual affair.  
  
When she’d brought Franky home from Wentworth, she was very sure that they would fuck themselves silly for a few weeks and then go on about their own ways. She liked Franky — she was incredibly charming. But they weren’t very compatible in many aspects. The age difference, interests — just not a lot in common. What had actually happened was text book cliche 'why you don’t date your patients.' Franky was incredibly busy, working and in school full time, so they didn’t get out together much. And the young woman had grown on her. It was an ideal situation for Franky — nice townhouse when she didn’t want to sleep at that rat trap with those piggish frat boys; decent food and a well appointed kitchen to cook in, and sex as often as she wanted it.  
  
Which was a lot. Franky was extremely sexual and she inspired Bridget to try things she’d never thought she’d want to do. Truth be told, Bridget was falling for her. _Very, very bad psychologist._ And she thought Franky might be falling for her too. This was a mess. And someone was calling her bluff.  
  
She hadn’t really had time to think it through, except that she and Franky probably shouldn’t be out in public together any more. And maybe Franky shouldn’t stay over for awhile. Until she could figure out who was threatening her and what she was going to do about it. Except for the fucking gala tonight. She had browbeat her girlfriend into attending. There wasn’t really any way to walk back this one. But she had to try. If she was in trouble she didn’t want Franky getting tangled up in it, distracted and potentially derailed.  
  
“I mean, I know I said it was important.” She finally looked up, meeting her partner’s gaze in the mirror. “And it is. But it’s going to be particularly painful for you. My speech and all.”  
  
Franky eyed her in the full length mirror. “No way. I look fabulous in this tux. Not wasting it — when am I ever going to get to wear this thing again?” She was curious. Something was going on with Gidge. They had spent weeks arguing over whether Franky would be her date at this event. Franky had finally given in and actually had fun finding the appropriate outfit. “Why?”  
  
Franky hated Gidget’s events calendar with a passion. The professional functions. _Jesus wept!_ They made Franky want to gouge out her own eyeballs. They’d come to an uneasy truce where Bridget only asked her to the ones she thought Franky might find remotely interesting, or where there was someone in particular Gidge thought she should meet. The qualifying factor for this one was that Gidge was a governing member of the board of directors of this organization. She absolutely had to be there. And it was important to her that Franky be there with her.  
  
Bridget picked fake lint from the front of her dress. She was starting to get a headache. _Make an appointment with Belle. Now._ Belle Grayson was Bridget’s mentor and counselor.  
  
She walked away from the mirror looking for her mobile. “It’s just — I know these things bore you to tears. And honestly, the only reason I want you there is to be eye-candy for me.” She went into the wardrobe and came out with a pair of classy pumps that matched her dress. She picked up her handbag and the shoes, sat momentarily on the bed to text Belle, then headed out of the bedroom toward the stairs.  
  
_What the fuck?_ Franky followed her, her low-heeled patent leather boots in hand as well. “You practically broke my arm, twisting it to get me here. What gives?” She watched Bridget’s back descending the stairs in front of her.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs, they both stepped into their shoes, pulled on coats. Bridget handed Franky the keys. “Will you drive?”  
  
The younger woman frowned. “Of course. You’re kind of freaking me out, though.”  
  
Impulsively, Bridget grabbed the front of Franky’s coat and kissed her tenderly. “I’m crazy about you, Franky Doyle.”  
  
This did nothing to ease the knot of worry that was growing in Franky’s chest. “I love you, Gidge. You know that.”  
  
“Let’s get on with this thing,” Bridget replied, pulling Franky out the door.  
  
**********************************************  
Half an hour later, Franky found herself in her black fitted tux at the back of a room full of psychologists bored silly, musing over her post-Wentworth existence. She’d rather be at the library studying then at this damn event. She loved Bridget Westfall. Was indebted to her for everything she had done for the ex-prisoner, from counseling her through some of her darkest moments at Wentworth, showing up at her parole hearing and providing her a place other than the wretched halfway house to live while she got her life sorted. And Gidge clearly cared about her. The ‘in love’ bit was still out for debate. But Franky was happy. No one else was turning her head these days.  
  
Well, except a certain maddening blonde who had declared herself off limits; and the ex con wasn’t going to fight her about it. Her loss. Weeks of classes and conversation over coffee passed without further improper incidents between them. They talked. Erica mentored. Franky learned and advanced. But she didn’t visit office hours — no spending time alone together behind closed doors. They seemed to have developed a tacit agreement not to put themselves in that situation again. Everyone stayed happy.  
  
Even though Franky and Gidge weren’t exactly the best match socially, Franky was content to be with her. Love her. Gidget seemed a little edgy at first, with her tight jeans, boots and leather jacket driving that Porsche. Franky quickly discovered that this hot girl in a hot car picking her up as she left prison was also a quite boring, refined, respectable woman in the day-to-day. Gidget didn’t like to go out much. She liked symphony. Opera. Ballet. Classical music. Franky had never been a fan of any of this stuff and wasn’t warming up to it much now. Refined was unlikely to be a term that ever applied to Franky Doyle. But the mundanity of Bridget's life suited Franky just fine right now as she stayed focused on school, studied a lot, got to work on time and stayed out of trouble. A whole new way to live.  
  
But at the moment, this stupid gala was making her arse hurt. She should have stayed home. She sighed and scanned the room for something to drink. When they’d entered, Gidget had introduced her to a couple of people and then excused herself to go to the ladies. Franky had scoped out the set up and quickly surmised that this event was going to suck hugely. Gidge had a speaking role, and for the dinner and program portion of the event would be seated at the dais with a row of other speakers. Franky was going to have to fend for herself for most of the evening. She resisted the urge to pick up two glasses of bubbly for herself from the passing tray, and then began to search the room for her girlfriend. She should have been back by now.  
  
She sipped the champagne weaving amongst the crowd looking for her partner. She finally spotted her way on the other side, near the dais, and started in her direction. Bridget saw her too and waved. The psychologist was talking to a very attractive couple, at least as far as Franky could tell from the back. The man was tall, well built, slim but not skinny. Perfectly coiffed hair. The blond he had a possessive arm around was smokin’. Franky licked her lips and stared at the bare back, narrow waist and shapely bum hugged by the royal blue silk. The psychology bunch, in Franky’s mind, weren’t the most attractive crowd. These people should be interesting. As she got closer, her eyes widened.  
  
_Fuck!_  
  
“Franky, I’d like you to meet Dr. and Mrs. Pearson,” Bridget said brightly. As a rule, at professional events -- pretty much in public in general -- no displays of affection between the two women. Bridget's rule for reasons Franky couldn't fathom. But not a deal breaker. Franky stood next to Bridget not touching her. “Dr. Pearson and I are on the Association board together.”  
  
Mark smiled at her affably, offering her a handshake. “Call me Mark. Please.”  
  
“Dr. and Mrs. Pearson,” Franky said, shaking Mark’s hand but looking at Erica. It was all she could do not to burst out in hysterics. She moved to hold Bridget’s hand but she dodged. Franky rolled her eyes. Erica and Mark wouldn’t care. Well, Erica might. This gala was turning out to be not so insufferable after all. “Professor,” she smiled saucily finally moving her eyes from the ex governors burning face to look at her husband. “So you’re the lucky guy. Nice to meet you, Mark.”  
  
Erica bit her bottom lip and glanced at her husband, then at Bridget, then at Franky, then decided she was really only safe with this conversation if she kept her eye on her favorite but trouble-making student. “Franky,” she said evenly, teeth clenched. “Please don’t say anything I’m going to regret.”  
  
“Ah. The infamous Franky Doyle. I have heard a lot about you,” Mark said, smiling back at her.  
  
“Well, I’m betting most of isn’t true, aye, Erica?” Franky arched an eyebrow. Erica lied. A lot. Mostly to herself. She surely hadn’t told Mark anything about the snogging.  
  
_How the hell did Franky know Mark’s wife is a professor?_ Bridget could feel the subtext between the blonde and Franky — the energy between them was thick. _Sexual?_ The pieces finally clicked together. “Ahhh. I didn’t realize. Franky always refers to you as Miss Davidson,” she added feeling uncomfortable, kicking herself mentally for not googling the faculty at Melbourne University Law School. Franky had been very forthright about Miss Davidson teaching one of her courses. She had neglected to mention that Miss Davidson was Professor Pearson. Mrs. Mark Pearson. But then Franky wouldn’t know that Mark and Bridget were colleagues.  
  
She knew about her girlfriend's crush on Erica at Wentworth and Franky had told her about their fevered reunion at the beginning of semester. Bridget tried not to wonder what else might have transpired between her girlfriend and the professor over the past few months. Was Franky visiting Erica’s office hours? She could tell as soon as Franky entered Erica’s field of vision that the professor was smitten with the younger woman. She could barely keep her eyes from her. “You’ve had quite the impact on my girl, haven’t you? And now you’ve found her an internship?”  
  
“Yes. That’s right. At my father’s firm. She starts at the end of the semester,” Erica answered, one eyebrow arched at Franky. She smiled briefly at Bridget then turned her attention back to the brunette. “We’ve just invited Dr. Westfall and her partner for dinner next week.”  
  
Franky’s smile was blinding. She did laugh out loud then. “Sweet! Looking forward to _that_.” She let her gaze lower to the professor’s cleavage, then down to the high slit on Erica’s dress that revealed one of her shapely thighs. Franky couldn’t help but lick her lips. “Damn, Erica,” she said.  
  
Erica blushed and tried to tamp down her anger. She glared daggers at her student. _Can you just keep your ego and libido in check for five minutes, Franky Doyle? Damn you. Why is it so hard for you to be in control of yourself?_   She was completely conflicted. Alone, she would have appreciated the ogle, but she definitely didn’t want Mark to see that. And she was set back on her heels to learn that Franky’s girlfriend was Dr. Bridget Westfall. Westfall was very well known and quite respected in the psych community in Melbourne. More than formidable competition for the younger woman’s affection. _Competition? Did I just think that?_ And then, much to her frustration, she realized she was jealous. Jealous of Bridget Westfall having unfettered sexual access to Franky Doyle. _Fuck_!  
  
Franky’s eyes finally made her way back up Erica’s face to her eye level. The blonde was clearly riled up. The younger woman kept grinning. _If you would stop lying to everyone, you wouldn’t be tied up in knots right now. But hell if it isn’t a sexy look for you._ Franky knew exactly what was stirring up her former crush. Erica would stroke out if she knew that Bridget knew everything about them, including how Franky had assaulted her in prison. Mark was watching her with an open, bemused expression. Bridget, not so much open or amused.  
  
“Be nice, Franky,” the psychologist said softly but sternly, taking the glass of champagne from her and sipping it. “In fact, maybe you can scare yourself up another one of these.” _And go take a cold fucking shower. Your dick is showing._ She took another drink, patting Franky’s hip; effectively dismissing her.  
  
Franky hated that: when Gidge treated her like a child. Especially in front of her colleagues. The age difference was obvious to anyone paying attention, but Franky didn’t like being made to feel outclassed and outsmarted as well.  
  
She rolled her eyes, still grinning at Erica and stepped away from Bridget. “My bad, Erica,” she said sincerely. I didn’t mean to offend.” She turned to Mark. “I had a mad crush on the governor while she was in charge of me. She’s moved on. Obviously.” Franky winked at him conspiratorially. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think she’s still hot as fuck.”  
  
Mark laughed. Erica’s expression relaxed slightly. “I have to agree, Franky,” Mark said as he kissed Erica’s temple. She leaned affectionately into him, still not taking her eyes from Franky. Frowning at her.  
  
Franky began to move away toward a waiter with a tray of full flutes. Erica caught her hand at the last possible second. _Maybe I’m being too hard on her. Mark doesn’t seem to be put off in the slightest. And Bridget just dismissed her like an unruly child. Even if that’s not far from the truth…_ “One for me too, Franky,” she said, pulling on her fingers playfully.  
  
Franky squeezed the digits. Interlaced them briefly. She hoped Erica was as hot and bothered as she was. _Fuck_. “Just one?” She stopped and leaned in slightly. _Stop it. Back away. Back away from the girl._  
  
Erica exhaled. Franky was close enough that she could feel the breath waft across her lips. “One for me. One for you. Should be enough, right?” She pushed Franky away with a hand to the shoulder.  
  
Franky began moving away but took one last look back at Erica. Only to see Bridget looking from her to Erica then back to her. It was not a happy look. She sighed. _Fucking fuckity fuck. No sex. Psych exam in bed tonight. Maybe even a lecture. Fuck._  
  
As Franky moved away from them, Bridget turned her attention back to Erica. “Well, it appears the magic is still there for you two.” She was feeling combative. Mrs. Pearson was clearly in love with Franky Doyle. It was at that moment that she realized she was too. And understood what she would need to do about it, if she wanted to protect Franky from the impending shitstorm of her license being pulled.  
  
Erica stood straighter, a little away from Mark. “No magic. We developed a rapport when I tutored her for two years. We know each other well. And I want to see her a successful lawyer. That is all.” Her gaze was cold. _I don’t know what Franky has told you. But it does not belong here. In front of my husband._  
  
“Don’t tell me you never dated a woman before, Erica,” she baited her. In front of her husband.  
  
The gaze turned glacial.  
  
“Erica a lesbian?” Mark laughed, kissed her on the head. “Never. She can’t get enough of me.”  
  
A young man approached at that moment, offering Bridget his arm and telling them that Dr.’s Westfall and Pearson were needed at the front as the program was about to begin.  
  
Franky had just swiped two glasses from a tray, the overhead lights blinked on and off. Time to sit for dinner. She turned around to find her date but instead it was Erica approaching.  
  
She took one glass from Franky. “I’m supposed to keep you company. Come on,” she hooked her arm through Franky’s and led her to a table in the back of the room. Mark had a speaking role as well and was at the dais too. “Normally I would sit where Mark can see me. But I don’t know that I can trust you to behave.”  
  
“I can behave,” Franky responded, sitting down, scooting her chair slightly closer to Erica’s. “Watch me behaving,” she said grinning insolently. Erica smiled back at her. _Ah. There’s that smile I love._  
  
“What did you tell Bridget about you and me?”  
  
“What did I tell her? What do you mean?”  
  
“Did you tell her…” Erica looked around. This really wasn’t the place to have this conversation.  
  
“I told her everything.” Erica let out an exasperated breath, ready to take umbrage. “I don’t think a relationship can be sustained on lies, Erica,” she said quietly. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you. Gidge understands that. And you do look spectacular in that dress.”  
  
The ex-governor softened immediately, both proud and chagrined at how Franky seemed to be the adult Erica had thought _she_ was. Then the loud clanking of dishes started as the meal was served. They made idle chatter with their table mates, but mostly talked to each other.

It was a rare opportunity for Franky, seeing Erica in her formal wear in a setting where they were equals. They were just Erica and Franky here. Not governor and prisoner. Not professor and student. And they still had an easy, teasing rapport that they both enjoyed. Once dessert was served the lights went down and the spotlight on the dais kicked in. Time for the “fun” stuff. _Speechifying. Great. Not!_ Franky decided she wanted more to drink. She was going to need something to mute the boredom of the next hour, and playing with the professor was out of the question here. Maybe. She slid her arm across the back of Erica’s chair pressing her breast against the blonde’s shoulder.  
  
Putting her mouth as close as she dared to the blonde’s ear without actually touching her, she whispered, “fancy another glass of bubbly?” She smiled at the sharp intake of breath. Then it was Franky having a hard time breathing as Erica did something completely unexpected.  
  
She turned toward Franky so that her lips were barely a centimeter from the student’s ear and slid one hand along the inside of Franky’s thigh almost to her crotch but not quite. She blew gently in her ear, then whispered, “yes, Franky Doyle. More. Please.” She squeezed Franky’s thigh for a long moment then sat back removing her hand as if nothing had happened at all.  
  
Franky was still leaned into Erica as if waiting for… _Not happening. This is not happening. Get a grip._ “That was just mean, Miss Davidson,” she whispered. She wanted so badly to press a line of kisses across Erica’s bare shoulders, up her neck, suck that… she shivered and stood up instead, to make her way to the back of the ballroom.  
  
While waiting at the bar trying to regain her bearings she rocked back and forth on her heels. _Slow your roll, Doyle. You are here for Gidge. Do not fuck this up._ After a short couple of minutes the bartender handed her two flutes full of champagne and she started back to her seat. Only to see Erica get up from the table and walk quickly past her out of the room. Franky put the glasses back on the bar. “Be back in a second,” she said. “Don’t let anyone take these.”  
  
She followed Erica out of the room and down the hall. _Ah. Going to the ladies._ Franky waited. A few minutes later the professor emerged almost colliding with her just outside the bathroom door.  
  
“Franky? What are you…”  
  
Franky grabbed her by the upper arm pulling her around a corner, mashing her up against the wall in a heated kiss. A kiss that Erica didn’t even pretend to fight. She kissed back, hungrily, until Franky pressed her trousered thigh between Erica’s legs and she moaned. Then pushed.  
  
Franky grabbed her wrists and held them over her head, pressing hard kisses to Erica’s neck.  
  
“Oh god, Franky,” Erica hissed. They needed to stop this. But it was intoxicating the way Franky was handling her. Commanding her. Her body wanted so badly to obey. She arched into the younger woman, lifting one thigh up, hooking it around Franky’s hip. She moaned again when she felt Franky’s palm against her knickers, her bum. She squeezed and Erica rocked her hips against Franky’s thigh, unable to tear herself away from the incredible heat between them. After another deep and probing kiss Erica was mussed and breathless. “Stop. Stop, Franky!”  
  
“Damn!” Franky released her and backed up a few steps. “Fuck. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry Erica.” She leaned against the opposite wall, eyes half closed. “We have to stop meeting like this,” her grin was lopsided. Not so arrogant.  
  
Erica squeezed her eyes closed then shook her head. When she opened her eyes, she reached into her handbag. “That’s the second time tonight you’re apologizing. Just stop it. We both have to get a grip.” She pulled out her lipstick and looked at Franky. She was also mussed. Flushed. “Bridget noticed. Mark is thick as a brick but your girlfriend is not. So get it together, get our drinks and go back to the table. I’ll be there in a minute.”  
  
Franky began to back away. “What did Gidge notice?”  
  
“You call her Gidge? As in Gidget?” Erica asked.  
  
Franky nodded.  
  
_Pet name._ The envy hit her so hard Erica hoped she hadn’t actually turned green. “She noticed you ogling me like the cat that’s got the cream. Wait a minute.” Erica approached her and rubbed her thumb across Franky’s lips. It was meant to remove the lipstick that was smeared there. Franky didn’t wear lipstick; but right now she was wearing Erica’s. The swipe turned into a caress as they became lost in each other’s eyes.  
  
“For fuck’s sake!” Franky closed her eyes. Backed up a step. “Not happening. This is not happening.” When she opened them, Erica was gone.  
  
  
********************************  
  
Franky lay in bed next to Bridget reading a legal text for her Corporations Law course. Bridget watched her reading. Franky ignored her. She was still annoyed at Bridget’s dismissal of her in front of Erica earlier in the evening. And she was not looking forward to what was sure to be a severe dressing down about her relationship with the Professor, if what Erica said was accurate. _You were ogling me. She noticed._ Gidge had been in a weird mood since she got home from work, anyway. It was definitely a lecture night. She sighed.  
  
She also knew she was going to have to talk to her girlfriend about what had happened with Erica tonight in the corridor behind the ballroom. But not now. She apparently already had her lecture lined up. Franky wasn’t in the mood to lengthen it with a confession.  
  
“She’s in love with you.”  
  
Franky was startled but continued to look at her book. _Definitely not the way I thought this convo would start._ “She’s married.”  
  
“Are you still in love with her?”  
  
Franky put the book down on her chest and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Does it matter, Gidge?”  
  
“It will when her marriage blows up. And it matters to me, Franky.”  
  
_Here we go._ “She thinks she’s straight.”  
  
“No she doesn’t. She was staring at you like she wanted to be your baby’s mama. I can’t believe Mark is so obtuse as not to notice his wife cruising other women. Right under his nose.” Bridget laid on her back next to Franky, staring at the ceiling. “I know things aren’t always so great between us.” She looked over. She had Franky’s attention now. “We have a lot less in common than is likely good for a relationship. But I do care about you. I will always care about you. You’re… I just want you to be happy,” she finished, looking back at the ceiling.  
  
_Wait a minute… Did you just break up with me?_ Franky’s jaw dropped. She’d never been dumped before. “I love you, Gidge,” she said. Meaning it. “Erica can go fuck herself. She knew better before she married that wanker. She’s made that bed.” Franky was suddenly angry at Erica. _How is it that she’s fucking up my relationship? She’s the one that got fucking married. Things are good here. I like being with Gidget. She’s good for me. Makes me a better person._  
  
“I would be angry too. She’s made a mess that won’t be easy to sort.”  
  
“Too bad for her.”  
  
“Franky,” she scolded, caressing her arm. “The… energy between you two is undeniable. She looks like she’s ready to swallow you whole and you… It’s like you were preening for her. Showing your brightest feathers. That’s going to explode if you don’t work it out. Or stay away from her. And honestly,” Bridget turned so her back was to Franky, “she’s an ideal partner for you, career-wise.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t think we should be together any more.”  
  
Franky sat up and the book tumbled off her chest and onto the floor with a loud ‘thump.’ “Are you seriously dumping me, Gidge?” _What the fuck just happened?_  
  
“I’m setting you free, Franky. It was really unfair of me to stash you away in here, dependent on me both emotionally and financially. You need some space to stand on your own feet. Make your own choices.” She turned over so Franky could see her face. Her tears. She sat up, and kissed Franky, hard. _Except I’ve fallen so deeply in love with you, Franky Doyle. I didn’t expect it. But I did. Fall for you._  
  
Franky pressed her forehead against Gidge’s, staring in her eyes. Looking for something to indicate she was misunderstanding what was happening. Trying to come up with something to say that made sense. But none of this made any sense! “Jesus, babe. I do choose you. I love you.” She cupped her face and leaned in again.  
  
Bridget pushed Franky’s hands away and slid off the bed, running to the ensuite. The door slammed. Franky stared after her, mouth open.  
  
A few minutes passed, then Bridget’s muffled voice came from behind the bathroom door. “Just promise me you won’t move in with a partner for at least a year. Give yourself some time, Franky.”  
  
Franky’s brow furrowed. She did an internal weather check. It wasn’t exactly dark and stormy inside but she was sad — she did care for Bridget. A lot. She had done so much for Franky, and she was so grateful. Unclear how to pay her back… _Ahh. That’s exactly it. Why she’s booting me. She thinks I feel like I owe her. That this isn’t real. And there isn’t really any way to fix this. At least not right now._ Franky started to tear up herself.  
  
She went to the bathroom door and scratched on it. “Come on, love,” she said quietly. “We can work this out, can’t we?” _This is CRAZY!_  
  
“There’s a reason therapists are not supposed to date their clients, Franky. I’ve made so many bad decisions around you. There’s a two year waiting period — I should have let you be for at least two years after treating you. And you need the space. You have to go.” She didn’t say the part about receiving a letter that morning with the photo of them kissing and a handwritten note that said, “Bye bye license!” With a smiley face. And she didn’t mention the unopened letter from the Australian Psychology Association that had been waiting in the mail slot when they got home from the gala. She knew she was being called to account; and if she didn’t want to drag Franky into this mess she’d made, she have to set her free. And hope that once she sorted herself and her practice…  
  
She had worried frantically all day about what this was going to do to Franky. She would be subjected to interviews about their relationship. Highly personal, explicit questioning. Even though Bridget had only treated Franky for a few months, the rules were clear. Two years. Franky had enough on her plate and hadn’t even come off parole yet. That kind of scrutiny and pressure could derail the younger woman completely. Bridget couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. So she had to let her go. She wanted to hate Erica Pearson for the way she’d looked at Franky tonight. But she was so damn glad she would be there to help Franky through school. Staying focused. The way Franky talked about her, there was a genuine caring mentor in the sexy blonde attorney.  
  
Franky, on the other hand, was gobsmacked. _What the fuck had just happened?_ She traced back through the events of the evening: went to boring-arse psychology event; flirted with Erica; _okay, there was that part where we almost fucked in the hall but she doesn't know that yet;_ get in bed; Gidge dumps me. _WHAT!?!_  
  
“This is CRAZY, Bridget!” Franky used her real name for the first time since… well, ever. She swiped at her own tears, went back round the bed to fetch her book and her jeans then left the bedroom. She slipping her jeans on over her boxers as she went down the stairs to put on her boots, collect her backpack and leave. _Fine. If this is what grown-up relationships look like, I’ll take the one-nighters any time. Fuck this_.


	3. Reckoning

Belle Grayson sat forward, elbows on her desk, chin planted on top of interlaced fingers. She was a big woman with frizzy hair and dark brown eyes. She had known Bridget Westfall for nearly thirty years, and been her mentor and counselor for most of that time. She was genuinely perplexed with what Bridget was telling her, but continued to push her former student to answer her own questions.  
  
“What did you think was happening?”  
  
“That’s just it! I couldn’t think!” Bridget paced in front of Belle’s desk, her hands clenched in frustration. “I was like a teenage boy around the hot girl at school.”  
  
“But you treated her.” Belle sat back in her chair, folding her arms.  
  
“It was only for a couple of months.” Her mentor’s eyebrows arched high with disbelief. As if _that_ was any excuse. “I know. I know.” Bridget sighed. “It made so much sense at the time.”  
  
“To disregard ethical parameters?”  
  
“No," she sat down. “To be with Franky. Just have it off a few times.”  
  
“To have sex with a patient?”  
  
“Of course not. She was no longer my patient. I mean,” she sighed in defeat. “I treated her for a couple of months and she had some amazing breakthroughs. And I tried to let her just be a patient. Even when she kept coming onto me, I diffused it, redirected the conversation.”  
  
“Then what happened, Bridget?”  
  
“Once she stopped trying so hard to seduce me I began to really enjoy my time with her. I watched her in the yard and found myself seeking her out for casual conversation throughout the day. She’s incredibly smart — brilliant even. Much too smart to be locked up. She just had some hard luck. And anger management issues.”  
  
“Not an unusual story.”  
  
“I know, but she’s different. The way her mind works is amazing. And there were some terrible things happening in there under Joan Ferguson.”  
  
“I read about that.”  
  
“You can’t know the half of it. She’s a psychopath, Belle. Clinically speaking. A psychopath was running that place and doing horrible things to the women.”  
  
_You’re changing the subject._ “When did you begin to feel it was appropriate to cross the line?”  
  
“It was never appropriate. I understand that. But while I was still at Wentworth, I told Franky about transference. About being attracted to her. It was important for her to know the truth…”  
  
“Important to you? Or important to Franky? Be careful, Bridget.”  
  
“Abandonment is a trigger for her, and she trusted me. She thought I had severed our counselor/patient relationship because of the things she’d discussed with me. Very difficult things. But that wasn’t the case. Not even close. She would have walked around carrying that, internalizing that…”  
  
“But she had a new counselor with whom to work through those things, yeah?”  
  
“I didn’t think I was in love with her. I thought it was just about sex. She’s incredibly attractive and charismatic. But yes. I should have left it at that.”  
  
“And a former patient, Bridget. Why doesn’t that figure into this for you?”  
  
“I know it should. I know intellectually why that matters. But in this case... I swear to god, Belle, it just doesn't apply. We do care for each other and it's real." Bridget stood up and went to the window, directing her gaze out to the traffic flowing by seven stories below. "When she was released. She came out of there, walking through the car park on her own and…” _she said she wanted to be picked up by a hot girl in a hot car and drive off into the sunset._ “I wanted to be there for her. She had no one else. I don’t regret it. But I didn’t realize I had already lost complete control of the situation at that point.”  
  
Now it was Belle’s turn to sigh. Love did strange things to people. The Bridget Westfall she knew would never completely lose her head over a cute bum. It had to have been much, much deeper. “How do you feel about her now?”  
  
“I’m crazy in love with her.” She thought about what Franky might be doing now. With Erica. “But I told her we can’t see one another any more. She has a good support system. She’ll be fine.” She looked up at her mentor. “Do you know what I should expect from the Ethics Committee?”  
  
“Are you going to be all right, Bridget? Without her? Now you've pushed her away. What if you lose your career too?"

She turned to face her mentor. "I guess I'll take some basket weaving classes and beg Franky to take me back," she replied, somewhat bitterly. _I'll be devastated if I lose my license._ _My life's work. Everything that even made it possible for me to know Franky Doyle._ "Franky's got other options. And I may not be the best fit for her in the long run. She's young enough to be my child, Belle. She has so much ahead of her." She smiled, sadly. "She would have been bored to tears with me soon enough."

Belle shook her head. What a dustup for Bridget to be in turning 50 in a few months. These were issues to have in your twenties and thirties. Bridget should be married. Or at least in a long term relationship. But that was another conversation. "What have you heard from the APA so far?”  
  
Bridget pulled the letter she’d received the day before out of the back pocket of her jeans and pushed it across Belle’s desk. “This. They say they’re opening an investigation.”  
  
“You should get in front of this. Set up to meet with them and mea culpa. Get on with your probation.”  
  
“I won't be permanently revoked?”  
  
“Unlikely. In cases where the law is actually broken, that happens. And sexual relations between counselor and patient, as you know, will get you cut from the team. So even though you violated the code, you weren’t actually treating her when you started sleeping with her.” She skimmed the letter. “I would like to meet this young woman sometime.” She looked over at Bridget. “This Franky Doyle over whom who you may have dashed your career.”  
  
Bridget smiled sadly. Wondering how she’d FUBAR’d this so badly. What it was about Franky Doyle that made perfectly sane women take complete leave of their senses? At least Erica Pearson had the self-awareness to remove herself from the situation. Although the heterosexual marriage was clearly so far off base for what the professor actually wanted, maybe that would prove to be Erica’s FUBAR. She likely wouldn’t last much longer with Mark now that Franky was available.  
  
“Yes,” she answered Belle, wondering if she would ever get a second chance to make things right with her ex-lover. “So would I.”  
  
***************************  
  
The spring semester ended. Franky was taking summer courses and interning at Davidson Law four days a week. Erica was teaching, but not any of Franky’s classes. The brunette spent the months seducing several young women on campus and enjoying herself, ignoring messages from both Erica and Gidget. Gidget had been right. She needed some space. The internship was more money than she’d made in her life on a monthly basis. She found a different flat — a much nicer one shared with three other female students. She really enjoyed the freedom of having a decent place to live and being able to afford to shop for food and buy clothes and school stuff when she needed to. She no longer had to choose one over the other.  
  
Franky smiled to herself as she crossed campus toward the coffee shop where she used to work. After four solid hours in the library, she was ready for a break. Jess was still behind the counter. She was a sweet 20 year old with dark hair and light brown skin. They’d flirted intensely while working together but she’d been with Gidge back then. One thing about getting into University at such a late age, there was plenty of tight, young, eager pussy around for one-nighters. Franky loved being at University.  
  
“Oi, Jess!”  
  
“Oi Franks! Where ya been?”  
  
“Interning. Law firm. Whip me up a flat white, will ya?”  
  
“Sure!”  
  
Franky scooted into the nearest empty booth and began flipping through the newspaper someone had left on the table. She stopped as a headline near the back of the Lifestyle section caught her eye. It was a small item, but it turned her stomach. She ripped the page out, crumpled it in her fist and shot it towards the bin. Then she took out her mobile.  
  
“Gidge.”  
  
Heavy sigh. “Oh, Franky.”  
  
“Gidge. Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. You moved house and didn’t even tell me. How did you find out?”  
  
“I just happened to pick up a newspaper. When did this happen? Were you ever going to tell me about this, Gidget?” Her voice hitched. The article said that Dr. Westfall’s license to practice was under investigation. “Is it because of me?”  
  
“Absolutely not! Don’t you dare think that, love,” she ached to see her, hold her in her arms. Franky would be absolutely devastated by this. Hold herself responsible. “Please don’t do this to yourself. It was me. I made a terrible decision when I asked you to go to bed with me. I shouldn’t have. I should have waited.” She paused for Franky to say something. When she didn’t, Bridget continued. “There’s going to be a hearing. Someone from the ethics board may want to interview you. I didn’t want that to be a surprise.”  
  
“Can I see you?” Her coffee arrived. She didn’t look up at Jess. She was doing her best not to break down into sobs. _You got her sacked from Wentworth. Now you ruined her career! You haven’t changed at all, Doyle. Selfish. Childish. Stupid._  
  
“Listen to me, Franky. We cannot be seen together. I have to get through this process.” She needed to keep going but her heart was breaking. She knew Franky was tormenting herself over this. And there was nothing she could do but talk on the phone. _This is one of ten thousand reasons why you shouldn’t have done it, crazy woman formerly known as Dr. Westfall. This is exactly why. When she really needs you you can’t be there for her._  
  
“Franky?”  
  
She couldn’t find her voice. She dropped a couple of dollars on the table and walked out of the cafe leaving her coffee behind. It was almost dark out. It would be harder for other people to see her tears out there, even though there were floodlights everywhere. She was on a university campus, for christssakes. At least Jess wouldn’t witness this.  
  
“Franky, love, please,” Bridget continued. “You have to understand that I am completely responsible for everything. For getting sacked from Wentworth. For not doing my job. For violating ethics. It was my responsibility to take care of your spirit, your mind. Not be distracted by your body.”  
  
Franky still didn’t speak. She found a bench near the coffee shop and sat down hard.  
  
“Have you been seeing Erica?”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Well, I’m sure she didn’t come onto you while you were in her care.”  
  
“You didn’t either, Gidge. I came onto you.”  
  
“But I opened the door. And it was wrong. Erica is good for you. She can help you with your career. She’s got your best interests at the forefront, no matter how it feels or looks from your end. Everything she’s done has been toward seeing you succeed, hasn’t it?”  
  
Franky thought about that. Technically it was true. But Erica had also left. Bridget didn’t. “What do I say to the ethics board?”  
  
“Just tell the truth, Franky. Don’t try to make anything up, make things seem any different than how you actually experienced them. Don’t try to make yourself look like the instigator. These are highly trained professionals. Just be honest, Franky.” She sighed. “You’re a terrible liar anyway.”  
  
“What about us, Gidge?” She sniffed loudly. “I love you…”  
  
“I know. I love you too, Franky Doyle. And this is exactly why I should have made a different choice with you.” _Keep it clean. Let her go. You likely FUBAR’d any opportunity to know what we might be to each other. Threw it all away for instant gratification._ “I’ll have to live with that. But there’s nothing we can’t feel or do for each other as mates. And I’m still not going anywhere. I promise. I do have to get through this hearing, hope for probation and then reinstatement.”  
  
“Then I can see you?”  
  
She chuckled. By the time she would be able to spend casual time with Franky Doyle again, Erica Pearson would have probably married the younger woman and produced their first born. She just had a feeling. “Yes. But it won’t be for awhile.”  
  
“Like, fucking, seeing you? Or just like, dinner, seeing you?”  
  
Bridget had to laugh heartily then. She loved the transparentness of this young woman. The focus and determination. It was so refreshing. “Dinner, Franky. Though I’m thinking by then you’ll have had some bondage adventures with Miss Davidson to crow about.”  
  
Franky sucked in her breath. “I don’t think she even knows about that. How do you?”  
  
“It’s my job to read people, love. And the dominatrix tattoo isn’t exactly subtle. You definitely have a dominant sexual personality, Franky. I’m betting that drove her nuts at Wentworth, trying to figure out how to ‘handle’ you. Your energy together is intense. I could feel it. I’m sure anyone with half a brain within a ten kilometer radius of you two can feel it.”  
  
“Except her husband, apparently.”  
  
“Except Mark.” She was quiet, listening to Franky breathe. “Look, kiddo…”  
  
“Oh, don’t start that old lady stuff…”  
  
“Well it’s true, Franky. I am old enough to be your mother…”  
  
“So what? That just makes you road tested, aye?” Franky was breathing easier now. But she missed Gidge now more than ever.  
  
“Listen. Just take care of yourself. And Erica. Don’t be too hard on her. It’s going to be quite an adjustment for someone who has been in the closet her whole life. Give her time.”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re giving me advice on how to score my next girl.”  
  
“You’ve already got her. I’m telling you how to keep her.” It was time to ring off before she turned maudlin. “Be good to yourself. And call me if you want to talk. I’ll see you when I see you.”  
  
“Hah! Not if I see you first, Gidge.” Bridget laughed at the corny joke. “I love you, Bridget.” Franky leaned over putting her elbows on her knees as the tears started again. _Jesus what is wrong with me. Why does everyone leave?_  
  
Bridget finally felt the tears coming. “I love you too, Franky. And I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”  
  
**********************************  
  
Joan Ferguson creased the newspaper, pinching it hard, then flattening it with her knuckle against the hard, clean surface of the white acrylic desk so that the tear would be even. She ran her finger down the crease several times to be sure it was sufficiently flattened. After carefully removed the small article from the back of the lifestyle section, the ex-governor taped it onto the wall next to her bed. She discarded the rest of the newspaper, then went to the bathroom to wash the newsprint smudges off of her fingers.  
  
After she felt sufficiently clean, she returned to her bed and sat there, staring out at the grounds of Thomas Ebling Hospital. She understood why some people believed that she belonged there. They were wrong. Everyone would understand that soon enough.  
  
Dr. Bridget Westfall was definitely wrong. At least some justice was being served. She should lose her practice. Regardless of the outcome of the hearing, her reputation was now damaged. As was Dr. Westfall. _She should be in here, not me._ But her work at the hospital for the criminally insane was not quite through. She remained still, on the bed. Plotting her next move.

********************************

Franky remained sitting on a bench only meters away from the coffee shop, elbows on her knees, hands clasped behind her neck. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. She wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. She thought about calling Erica. Before she reached into her pocket for her mobile, a familiar scent wafted over her, a hand on her head, fingers rifling through her hair. She grabbed the hand in both of hers, pressing it to her face.  
  
Then Erica was sitting next to her. “What’s happened, love?” she said softly.  
  
Franky sat back on the bench staring out into the night, holding the professor’s hand. “What is it about me, Erica? I kissed you and you left and got married. I didn’t kiss Gidge and she was sacked. Then I did get to be with her and she dumped me. Now her license to practice is in jeopardy because of me.” She turned to look at Erica. Her voice hitched even though she was cried out. “What am I doing wrong?”  
  
Erica inhaled sharply, her heart breaking for Franky. _Where to begin? Bridget left her? When?_ “First, Franky. Are you safe? Where are you staying?”  
  
“I found a new flat closer to campus. Why?”  
  
“If Dr. Westfall booted you…”  
  
“I only stayed with her for a couple of months. I’ve been on my own for nearly a year.”  
  
Erica digested this and swiftly tamped down the roiling emotions. _Why did you assume they were living together? Why does it matter? Because they_ weren’t _living together._ Erica did a mental fist pump but didn’t examine why that would please her. “Now what’s happened with Bridget? Her license?”  
  
“There’s some stupid rule that a therapist can’t date a client for at least two years after the last treatment…”  
  
_Waitaminnit_ … “She was your therapist, Franky?” _Jesus, Bridget! What were you thinking?_  
  
“It was only for a couple of months. Then she transferred me to someone else cuz she had the hots for me.” Franky was starting to feel defensive on Gidge’s behalf. “Nothing happened at Wentworth. And it was my choice to be with her. I love her.”  
  
_What the hell was going on in there after I left? Bea escaped and murdered someone; Doreen got pregnant and had a baby; there was a fire that nearly killed Franky; and my successor is on an extended stay at a hospital for the criminally insane. Fuck the what?_ She shifted her worried musings back to the present. To the distressed young woman next to her.  
  
“It doesn’t matter, Franky. It’s completely against professional standards. It’s like the first no-no — it’s never okay to have sex with a patient.”  
  
“I wasn’t her patient.”  
  
Erica sighed. _She loves her._ She pulled Franky’s hand into her lap, held it between her two. “I understand. I imagine now she’ll have some sort of trial or hearing and then a decision made as to whether she gets to stay in psychology or not.” _Which means she almost destroyed her career for you._ “Franky, this is not your fault. You understand that, right?”  
  
She looked at her hand trapped between the professor’s. It was comforting. “I can’t help feeling like there’s something I’m doing wrong. I never had such shit luck with women before I got to Wentworth. Before I met you,” she sighed tipping her head back. “Fuck.”  
  
Erica smiled bitterly. _Timing and approach, Franky my love. Timing and approach._ “Both Dr. Westfall and me, Franky, we are responsible for our own actions. She shouldn’t have allowed a sexual relationship to start. No matter how much she wanted it. And I shouldn’t have…” She hesitated to finish it. Franky didn’t need that information — it would only make things between them that much more difficult.  
  
Franky watched her expectantly, still teary. “You shouldn’t have what?”  
  
_Married the wanker, Franky._ “I’ll talk to Mark. I’ve heard of disciplinary action. Probation. That usually has to do with some kind of fraud.” _But sleeping with a client is a sure way to end a career._ “At least she wasn’t still treating you. That has to work in her favor. I’ll talk to Mark and see if he knows anything.”  
  
“She said there’s a hearing. That someone might want to talk to me.”  
  
Erica thought for a moment. “I bet it would go a long way in helping if you stepped forward proactively. Find out who to talk to, tell your side of the story.” Erica didn’t honestly believe that Franky was any worse off for dating a woman who used to be her therapist. But there wasn’t really any way to know. And it was definitely unethical. Erica, however, was the last person to cast stones. Her house was made of such thin glass right now…  
  
“What are you doing out here, Erica? It’s nearly nine on Saturday night. Why aren’t you home making sexy with the wanker?” She tried to smile and almost made it. But was still very comforted by Erica holding her hand.  
  
“Oh. I was doing some research. And lining up my lesson plan for next semester. I was going to get a coffee and go home. It is getting late.”  
  
_On a Saturday night? Right._ The student watched the other people crisscrossing campus, going in and out of the cafe for a few minutes. Enjoyed the companionable silence between them. “Three L starts next month. I have Legal Ethics.”  
  
“That’s my class.”  
  
“I know. I thought I would warn you.”  
  
“I’m so very proud of you, Franky. I don’t know how often I can say that.” She smiled brightly at her. Finally relinquished her hand. “Walk with me to get a cuppa?”  
  
Franky shouldered her backpack and stood. “Nah. I’m beat.” She looked at Erica who was standing in front of her now. “Thanks for being here with me. I was going to call you.”  
  
“I’m always here for you. I always will be.” She thought for a moment. “Timing and approach, Franky.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you and women. You do not have shit luck. What you have is shit timing. And you might think about softening your approach. But other than that, you’re practically irresistible.”  
  
The younger woman smiled. “So a different approach with you might have worked, aye Erica? Because I know the timing was right. _Before_ you married the wanker.”  
  
“I am not having this conversation with you, Franky Doyle.” Erica started backing away but not before a half smile appeared. She turned quickly, hoping to hide it from the student.  
  
“I saw that,” Franky called after her. “Plus you said I was irresistible.”  
  
“Practically! I said practically!” Erica called over her shoulder.  
  
“Let me know what Mark says.” Then she turned toward home.


	4. Rock, Paper, Scissors

Erica sat in bed painting her toenails. Mark was next to her, reading a journal.  
  
“Honey, what kind of disciplinary process happens when a psychologist has sex with a former patient before the grace period ends?”  
  
“Ah,” he eyed her over his reading glasses. “You’ve heard about Dr. Westfall.”  
  
“I ran into Franky on campus earlier. She’s a mess. Do you know what’s going to happen?”  
  
“She’ll go before the ethics board for a hearing in about a month. Most likely she’ll get probation. Apparently the relationship broke up a couple of months ago. And it didn’t start for a number of months after the therapist/client relationship had been severed.”  
  
_That MAP dinner was a couple of months ago. Has Franky been on her own since then? Why didn’t she tell me?_ “What does that mean? For how long?”  
  
“It means she won’t actually have her credentials suspended, but she will have to have a coach review her monthly; and she’ll have to let all of her patients know that she is on probation.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Six months, a year.”  
  
“Then she’ll be fully reinstated?”  
  
“Probably. But a permanent mark on her record.”  
  
“Ouch.”  
  
Mark put his journal down and took his glasses off, turning to face her. “Franky Doyle seems to be quite a handful.”  
  
Erica rolled her eyes. “You have _no_ idea,” she said, screwing the lid back on the polish and fanning her toes to dry the lacquer more quickly.  
  
“I remember you getting a bit wound up about her when you were governor.”  
  
Erica said nothing.  
  
“And you left rather abruptly.”  
  
_Now is an excellent time to put the polish away. Walk away from the husband._ She swung her legs off the bed and stood up.  
  
“I was thinking it might be a good idea for Franky to go to the ethics board proactively, make a statement on Bridget’s behalf,” she said over her shoulder as she gingerly stepped toward the bathroom trying not to smudge her paint job. She had a strange sensation in her chest. “What do you think?”  
  
“They’ll definitely want to talk to her, so yes. That would work,” he paused for a moment. Then continued. “Did anything happen between you and Franky at Wentworth? After meeting her I can certainly see the appeal. She’s quite… charismatic. Very easy on the eyes.”  
  
Now Erica was getting dizzy. “Of course not, Mark. Don’t be ridiculous.” She rummaged through a drawer killing time, focusing on not hyperventilating. _Let it go, Mark. Please just let it go._  
  
Except that Mark stood up and followed her to the bathroom, stopping next to her. She gave up the faux rummaging. “Mark, don’t start…”  
  
He took her chin in his hand forcing eye contact. “Are you seeing her now, Erica?”  
  
She jerked away from him angrily. “Jesus, Mark.” She walked back toward the bed. _‘Surely you’ve dated a woman before, Erica.’ Fucking Bridget. She put this idea in his head. I’m going to cut her!_  
  
“Seriously! What is it about this kid that makes a solid, incredibly talented psychologist nearly destroy her career? I have known Dr. Westfall for more than 15 years. She’s top of the class!” He followed after his wife as she made her way back toward the bed. “What is it about Franky Doyle that had my fiancé..." he paused there his gaze turning inward.

_No! No! Walk it back, Mark. Don't open that box!_

"...nearly orgasming in her dreams for months while she worked at a women’s prison? Dreams which were not about me. Goddamnit!” He stormed to where she stood by the bed, her back to him. “Were they? You weren’t dreaming about me, you were dreaming about Franky Doyle! Are you sleeping with her?!?” He grabbed her arm forcefully, spinning her around. “Did you? Are you!?”  
  
“No,” she whispered. She’d never been afraid of Mark before but she was now. She’d never seen him so angry. And wounded. “I…”  
  
He backhanded her so hard that she fell backwards nearly half way across the bed. She scrambled off the other side cradling her stinging jaw in shock.  
  
“Will you stop lying, Erica! For christsakes!” He yelled. “You lie about the stupidest things. But then about big things, too. Is this marriage a lie?”  
  
She watched him wide eyed. Watched the pieces coming together for him: the partial spin-out and abrupt departure from her governorship when Franky kissed her; her sometimes distracted, dissembling state when coming home from university — frequently like she would come home from Wentworth; her brush-offs of his attempts at intimacy since she started teaching again. Since Franky Doyle was back in her life. Mark was finally connecting the dots and she was powerless to stop it.  
  
“It’s been her all along, hasn’t it? Before you went to that fucking prison, you were mine. You were… You loved me. Then all you could talk about was Franky Doyle. And you were so stressed out and wanted…”  
  
_Rough, dirty, intense sex. Yes! I wanted that. I still want it. And you can’t give it to me. But she can._ Erica realized she was sick to death of lying. Of trying to make this work with Mark. She didn’t love him anymore. And it wasn’t fair to either of them to keep pretending she did. Even if it was selfish, it was true. And what would be gained by trying to convince Mark otherwise? He still had plenty of time to find someone else to love. Bear his children. She needed to let him go.  
  
“Then you left Wentworth. You said you wanted to get married. Something had changed in you but I thought it was just the prison had taken it’s toll.” He sat down on the bed, his back to Erica. “Now that girl is back in your life. You spend all your time on campus. You don’t want sex. At least not with me…”  
  
He turned and looked at her. “Did you ever even love me at all? Why didn’t you just tell me you had changed? Why did you even marry me?” He was winding down now, the sadness -- the reality of a broken relationship -- catching up with the anger.  
  
She backed away from the bed still holding her face, watching her world fall apart.  
  
******************************  
  
It was several days later, nearly the end of summer, and Franky still hadn’t heard from her mentor about Bridget’s hearing. She was glad for the time she had over the few months to play around, free from the drama both Erica and Gidge created in her life; but the truth was she missed them. And it didn’t feel conflicted for Franky — she cared deeply about both women. Gidge was the safe haven. Erica was the wild ride. But Gidge was right — Miss Davidson had been looking out for her all along; and her mentorship now was invaluable. Three L was starting and she’d finally got into the Melbourne University Law Review membership. She needed Erica’s support and guidance more than ever now. She would figure out how to keep her hands to herself.  
  
She texted the professor: _Did you find anything out from Mark?_  
  
Several minutes went by before she had a response.  
  
_Yes, actually. The short of it: yes, go talk to the board._  
  
_What’s the long version?_  
  
_Do you have dinner plans?_  
  
Franky abandoned the texting and called her, wanting to hear her voice. “Hey, Gorgeous. Where’s the wanker? Why don’t _you_ have dinner plans?”  
  
“Because I don’t,” Erica replied, feeling a warmth she hadn’t expected on hearing Franky’s voice. _Gorgeous_? “And I’d like to have dinner with you. I’ve missed you, Franky.”  
  
“You never call, you never write,” Franky smiled into the mobile. Teasing. And incredibly pleased that Erica admitted to wanting to see her. After the psychology association dinner, then Bridget dumping her, Franky had avoided the professor over the summer. It wasn’t hard on the big campus. But she hadn’t returned several phone calls, either.  
  
“ _You_ never return phone calls or write, Franky Doyle. Come on then. Meet me at Rice Paper Scissors. On Liverpool. What time do you finish?”  
  
“Love it. Six.”  
  
“I’ll meet you there at 6:30pm.”  
  
***********************************  
  
Franky sat across the dinner table, grinning. Erica couldn’t help but smile back. Their sexual chemistry was still intense. But the friendship between them was too.  
  
Erica had just finished giving Franky the longer version of what Mark had said. Honestly, it wasn’t so long. Well, except for the, ‘Are you fucking Franky Doyle and I want a divorce!’ part of what Mark had said. That was pretty long. And painful. And Franky didn’t need to know that. Yet. It was crazy ironic that Mark was the reason she was sitting across the table from Franky now; having dinner with her young friend.  
  
She needed to stop thinking of the student as “young.” There were really barely five years between them and Doyle would be a formidable barrister very soon. They would be peers. And Franky was definitely wise beyond her age, if a little impetuous. Less and less so, Erica mused. _She hasn’t even said anything inappropriate yet. Losing Bridget seems to have trimmed her sails a bit._  
  
“Da says you’re quite adept for an intern,” Erica passed on the compliment from her father. He wasn’t Franky’s direct supervisor but clearly word was getting around the office. Erica was proud of her.  
  
“I love it. It’s fascinating. I wish I was practicing already,” Franky said before taking another bite of her spicy beef dish. Rice Paper Scissors was Asian fusion food. One of Franky’s favorite cuisines. But Erica wouldn’t know that. Lucky choice? Or maybe she and the former governor had more in common than they thought.  
  
Erica sipped wine, not eating much. Her stomach was in knots at seeing Franky again. And at her impending divorce. It was going to be messy. And public. “Bored me to tears. Maybe you can be the dutiful daughter he’s always wanted.”  
  
“Rather be daughter-in-law,” Franky responded, smiling rakishly.  
  
“Would you now?” Erica looked surprised. An unbidden image of waking up in Franky’s arms invaded her thoughts. She shook it away.  
  
“Yep,” Franky replied. “Any chance the wanker’s gonna leave you?”  
  
“Actually,” Erica frowned. “He is. Leaving.” She hadn’t planned on dropping this bomb with Franky tonight, but there it was.  
  
Franky’s expression was immediately alarmed. “Oi, Erica!? He’s an idiot!” She stood up angrily. _Wait. What are you going to do, Doyle? Beat someone up? Siddown, you fool. This is what you want._ She returned to her seat. “Sorry. Do you want to talk about it? Are you right, Erica?”  
  
“It’s complicated. Things have been a bit rocky between us for awhile.” _Since you came back into my life, Franky Doyle._ “He’s been pushing for children. I just…” she swirled the wine in her glass, wondering why she was lying. “I’m not ready.” _I can’t bear him even touching me since you kissed me. And now he’s put the pieces together. He knows I’m in love with you._  
  
“That’s a tosser. But he should respect what you want,” Franky was feeling defensive on Erica’s behalf. She ate more of her dinner, noticed that Erica wasn’t eating hers. “I’m truly sorry, Erica. You really love him, aye?” Franky’s heart was aching. _Don’t ask stupid questions you don’t want to know the answer to, dumbarse._  
  
Erica took another sip from the glass. “I care for him very deeply. He’s a wonderful man, and he loves me.” She looked up to meet her would-be lover’s startled gaze. “But I can’t give him what he wants. “ My heart. “And it isn’t fair on him to keep him — either of us — trapped in this marriage.”  
  
Franky looked down at her plate, trying very hard not to jump up and do the Snoopy dance. Trying to hide her smarmy grin. _Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer the question, Miss Davidson._  
  
“Come on, Franky,” Erica said, wearily. “Please don’t… I did love him. I’ve made a proper mess of things. And hurt him badly. It’s not easy to separate lives that have been co-mingled for over a decade.”  
  
That wiped the smile off Franky’s face. “Damn. I didn’t think of that. I don’t mean to be an arsehole to you, Erica. But…”  
  
“It just comes naturally?” Erica smiled sadly. “And don’t think my divorce is a one way ticket for you into my knickers.”  
  
Actually, that’s exactly what Franky had been thinking. On both points. She stared, quizzically. “Are you saying it’s not?” _You gotta be fucking kidding. We finally have timing on our side and  you’re throwing up more obstacles?_  
  
“For starters, Franky Doyle, you are my student.”  
  
Franky rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go…”  
  
“No. This is serious. There are strict regulations against faculty interfering with students.”  
  
Franky leaned back in the booth taking a drink of the pinot gris. Turns out they both favored the white grape and were sharing a bottle. “When are you going to understand, Erica Davidson, that you and I were born to break many rules together?” She half smiled, licking her bottom lip suggestively.  
  
Erica went a delightful shade of red, starting at her chest. Franky watched it working it’s way up toward the blonde’s hairline. She figured she could guess what was flashing in Erica’s mind. Franky had an eidetic memory of the little bit she’d experienced of Erica’s body, her reactions to her touch. She had exactly the information she needed, both from her first assault on Erica at Wentworth to their last frenzied kiss at Mark and Bridget’s dinner to know exactly what they both needed sexually.  
  
“Bridget dumped me right after that dinner, you know.”  
  
It was Erica’s turn to looked startled. “What? What have you been doing all summer by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me? I called you several times. Did you get my messages?” She reached out for Franky’s hand. Franky gave it to her.  
  
“I’m fine, darlin’.” She liked Erica holding her hand across a dinner table. It felt right. Erica didn’t seem to notice her own gesture as she let their fingers interlace. “I have a great flat and great flatmates. And plenty of company. You do realize this is a uni campus?” She brushed her thumb over Erica’s. “Maybe you can come over. Spend the night,” she raised an eyebrow suggestively.  
  
“So you’ve been sleeping around all summer,” she said caustically, pulling her hand from Franky’s. She hated that this bothered her.  
  
“What does it matter where I’m sleeping while you’re married to the…” since the revelation of the impending divorce, she might want to tread carefully here. “Married to Mark? I’m not a completely selfish jackass. You aren’t available. And you keep telling me you aren’t a lesbian. I didn’t want to distract you from your hetero playacting with my new found freedom to fuck other women.” _There’s no way we wouldn’t be fucking if we’d spent time together over the last couple of months._ She cleared her throat. “What does it matter where I live or who I fuck if I can’t be with you?”  
  
“Just because we have intense,” Erica lowered her voice, “sexual energy doesn’t mean we belong together.” Erica knew the lie as soon as it came out of her mouth. She was crazy in love with Franky Doyle but having a hard time imagining how they could really be together. Their social lives were diametrically opposite. And Erica wasn’t sure she was ready to be a lesbian in public life. _This is all happening too fast. Too soon. Slow it down. I’m not even divorced yet._ Maybe they would have a few months of fantastic sex and then go their separate ways. And what would happen with Bridget? Franky said she loved her. Didn’t she still?  
  
Franky’s eyebrow arched high on her face. _Are you hearing yourself, Erica?_ “Ok, Professor. One thing I will not tolerate when we are together is all the fucking lying. You have got to stop that. It just stuffs you up, reckon? Like more than a decade of stuffed up.”  
  
Erica finished off her wine and Franky poured her more. She focused on her hands. The ex-prisoner was actually right. _Give me a fucking minute, Franky! Christ._ The girl was so goddamn straightforward. It unnerved Erica — she’d never met anyone who could both infuriate and completely delight her simultaneously. Scare the shit out of her and thrill her to no end. She _loved_ it.  
  
“I’ve made a mess of my life and Mark’s. Maybe I’m not so anxious to make a mess of yours,” she said quietly. She had barely touched her food. Now she wasn’t hungry at all.  
  
Franky poured the remainder of the wine in her own glass, sipped from it. She was giddy inside, but trying very hard not to show it. Erica was skittish. But she had just implied that there could be a future for them. _Timing and approach. Don’t rush her._  
  
“You’re talking to the woman who threw a pan of boiling oil onto a chef on national television, Erica,” she said. “I’ve spent a few years in prison. I think I could handle whatever you want to dish.” Erica continued to stare at her hands. “Why don’t we box that up since you clearly aren’t eating it,” she said, flagging a waiter.  
  
“I don’t want to go home yet.” She drained her glass. “He’s there. I don’t want to see him right now.”  
  
“Okay,” Franky said, watching her. Willing her to look up. Was this a first date? “Let’s walk along the waterfront. Go for a walk with me, Erica Davidson.” She smiled.  
  
“That sounds like a fantastic idea.” Erica finally looked up and met Franky’s eyes. It made her feel hopeful in a way she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m sorry to be such shit dinner company. This is one of my favorite restaurants. I love Asian fusion. I guess I just didn’t have an appetite tonight.”  
  
_You’re in the middle of a divorce. You are contemplating coming out. We haven’t seen each other in months. You could probably use a couple of fingers of scotch. And a couple of fingers of me._ “Me too about Asian fusion. You’ll have to let me cook for you sometime.”  
  
They walked for over an hour, talking and laughing together. Not holding hands. Erica settled for taking Franky’s arm and leaning against her dashing mate as they strolled together. Finally the professor was ready to face the reality of her failing marriage again.  
  
“Walk me to my car?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Do you need a ride anywhere?”  
  
“No — my place is only a few blocks from here.” Franky lied. It was more like a couple of kilometers. But she didn’t want to be in a car with Erica right now. She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands to herself.  
  
As they reached Erica’s Mercedes she turned to face Franky, her back against the drivers’ side door. “It has been a lovely evening,” she smiled.  
  
Franky was trying to decide if she could manage a quick kiss or should she just go for the full snog. But then Bridget’s advice came back to her. _It’s going to be an adjustment. Give her time._ And she backed up a step. Then two. “Well…”  
  
Erica’s breath caught with shock and disappointment. _Wait, did I actually want her to kiss me out here in the middle of the uni car park? Damn. And she’s not going to. Double damn._ “This is insane,” she said, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth.  
  
“What’s insane is us not being together.”  
  
Erica wasn’t yet ready to concede. “You’re so impatient. You’re going to have to give it, give me, time Franky. Please. I am still married. You are still my student.”  
  
“I would say four years is enough time, Erica. Let me know when he moves house.”  
  
Erica got into her car and pulled away.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Two weeks before the end of the semester Franky sat listening to Erica — Professor Pearson — working the room. She really was good at it. Most of the students were highly engaged watching the blonde woman pace, fire questions. Eager hands shot up with every missive. The student found that if she didn’t actually look at the professor for very long, just listened most of the time, she could retain the subject matter much better. Watching Erica move often completely short-circuited her brain and she couldn’t hear a word. When class was just about to end she heard her name called. _Damn. Don’t ask me a question. Please, Erica… Professor Pearson._ Franky opened her eyes to see the Professor pinning her with a steely gaze.  
  
“Franky Doyle, can I see you for a few minutes after class?”  
  
“Sure,” she tried to sound nonchalant. Was Erica angry with her? What had she done? She had tried to follow Gidge’s advice. The semester was 12 weeks. For ten of them, starting a couple of days after they’d had dinner at Rice Paper Scissors, Franky had been on her best behavior.  Once she understood that Erica was getting a divorce she was determined not to stuff things up a second time with the blonde.  
  
She wanted to be with Erica Davidson. Badly. And she could wait. There was no doubt in her mind that Erica wanted to be with her. She just needed some time to wrap her brain around what it would mean to actually date Franky. So when the student did need to ask a course- or career-relevant question, she arranged to meet in the library or to talk over dinner. Someplace where there were lots of other people.  
  
Her fellow students filed out except for a couple of stragglers. Young men and women who mostly flirted with the professor rather than having serious questions. Finally it was just her and Erica. Alone. In the room.  
  
“Walk with me,” Erica said heading out the door quickly. Franky fell into step next to her as they moved down the hall. “Why are your eyes closed in class? Are you sleeping? Are you even paying attention?” Her tone was cross.  
  
“It’s the only way I can pay attention, Erica… Professor Pearson,” Franky said seriously. “Watching you… I can’t hear what you say when I look at you walking around in front of me. In that body,” she glanced at her professor.  
  
Erica blushed but didn’t look at her. “Oh. Well then. Mark moved house yesterday.”  
  
Franky stopped dead in her tracks staring after her in shock. _Wait, what?_ She started to speak but nothing came out so she cleared her throat. She heard Erica chuckle several steps ahead now, then trotted to catch up. “I’m sorry… you were saying…”  
  
The professor picked up her pace. “I was thinking maybe you could come over after exams. Cook me dinner,” she glanced at Franky then quickly away.  
  
Franky made a noise that sounded like a strangled sob. Erica stopped and faced her.  
  
Franky backed up a couple of steps so she wasn’t in reach of her soon-to-be-lover. _Thank you Jesus._ Clearly Erica had done a lot of work on her 'I’m not a lesbian' issues over the semester and through her divorce. Franky tried to sound calm, exude her usual brashness. “How about tonight?” Her voice broke. She sounded like a squeaky hormonal teenager.  
  
Erica laughed out loud. It was Franky who blushed this time. “I would like that. Very much. However, we are still two weeks away from the end of semester. I wouldn’t want there to be any issue around me grading you for this course.”  
  
Franky smacked herself on the forehead. “Right. Right. Okay.” She pulled out her mobile and swiped through her calendar. “So, two weeks Thursday I sit for my last exam. Then I have to work until 6:30pm. I could be at your place by 7?”  
  
Erica’s smile was blinding. “I’ll mark it down.”  
  
“I mean, technically, I’ll be finished with your course for two full days. We could have dinner Tuesday…”  
  
“No. Absolutely not. We are not making a mess. We will do this right.” Erica stated emphatically.  
  
It was adorable, Erica giving her instructions. _And we are doing this. She just said we will do this.Thank you Jesus._ “Man. I really want to kiss you right now.”  
  
Erica closed her eyes. Gritted her teeth. “Damn you. Come on.”  
  
They walked together in anxious silence to Erica’s office. She unlocked the door and let Franky enter first. Then she closed it and locked it behind her.  
  
Franky leaned against Erica’s desk. Watching her. Hearing Gidget in her head. _Don’t rush her._ After a couple of minutes where neither of them moved, Franky reached a hand out beckoning Erica to come to her. And to Franky’s utter amazement, Erica did. Franky took the blonde's face between her hands this time and kissed her gently at first, then a second and third time. It wasn’t frenzied like before. This was a slow burn that intensified until Franky swore all the hair on her head was standing on end. It was un-fucking-believable how hot the kiss was. How Franky could feel it all the way down to her sex. How Erica’s body molded to hers like they were made together. How the moan that came from the blonde when she squeezed her arse made Franky wet.  
  
She finally pulled back reluctantly, but breathless.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Erica said against her neck, leaning against her bonelessly.  
  
Franky pulled her in tighter. Loving the feel of this woman in her arms. “I think I might self combust.”  
  
“Don’t you dare. Not yet,” Erica said leaning up to kiss her again. She was in heaven. Standing here kissing Franky without the guilt was indescribable. Every nerve in her body seemed to be humming. Every flick of Franky’s tongue in her mouth she could feel in her center; across her scalp; in her fingers and toes. She was delicious. Soft. Firm. Commanding.  
  
When Mark had left the night before, Erica had done her own version of the Snoopy dance. She was sad that her marriage had failed. But she was undeniably ecstatic at the thought of being with Franky. She’d picked up her mobile fifty times to call her and each time had to remind herself that Franky was her student. And that despite their history and the obvious attraction, they would need to tread carefully until Franky graduated. She briefly entertained the thought of not telling Franky that Mark had gone. Waiting until after the semester was over. But she didn’t want to start this relationship with deception. And yes, she wanted a relationship.  
  
She had nearly ten weeks to think about what she wanted now that her marriage was ending. She’d given herself permission to admit she was in love with Franky and had been since Wentworth. She tried to imagine what her family would say, her friends. The university certainly wouldn’t care if she was a lesbian. Her father already knew Franky was a lesbian. It frightened her, all the judgment she imagined would come from her non-university community. The disapproval. But none of it was scarier than missing this chance with Franky.  
  
She admitted to herself that seeing Franky with Bridget drove her nuts. Made her go all Regan from _The Exorcist,_ head spinning around and green stuff projectile streaming from her mouth _._ That she loved knowing the younger woman was up in the back seats in class watching her. That she loved the little interludes they had over coffee, in the library, walking together across campus. Franky was funny. And smart as hell. Aside from the sexual stuff, Franky had become a good mate to her. She really enjoyed any bit of time they spent together and Erica and wanted more. She was so very tired of pretending otherwise. Like Franky told her a number of times: it was time to stop lying. To everyone.  
  
She wanted Franky. And she was melting in the brunette’s arms now. She needed to dial back the intensity before she was a puddle around the younger woman’s feet. She reluctantly ended the kiss, but stayed in the circle of Franky’s embrace, tremendously enjoying the feel of those hands on her bum.  
  
“Franky,” she started.  
  
The brunette continued kissing along her jaw to her ear, then down her neck. “Hmmmm?”  
  
“We’ll need to be careful,” she tried to stay focused. She had something important to say, but the kisses being laid across her skin were like fire. She tried to step back but Franky caught the front of her slacks.  
  
“Whoa there, Miss Davidson.” She had curled her fingers inside, pulling Erica back to her. “Where are you going?”  
  
“I…” She looked at Franky’s fingers inside her waistband, then put both hands on the younger woman’s chest. “We need to talk.”  
  
“Ok,” she leaned in to kiss her again.  
  
Erica put her hand over Franky’s mouth. Franky kissed her fingers. She smiled bashfully. “I can’t think when you’re kissing me.”  
  
Franky pulled Erica’s fingers gently from her mouth. She’d waited years to have Erica in her arms like this. But if she kept doing what she wanted to do right now, they would end up fucking. And she was very sure she didn’t want to scare Erica away again. _Slow your roll, Doyle. Give her time._ She continued to hold Erica’s body tightly against hers, but didn’t try to kiss her.  
  
Erica watched Franky’s inner struggle, finding herself a little disappointed when the younger woman settled down and waited for her to continue. Erica had half expected a complete ravishing and nearly-sex in her office. But this Franky seemed calm, controlled. Contained, even. She marked the moment for later examination but decided she needed to take this reprieve.  
  
“We’ll need to be very careful, Franky. Both until my divorce is final _and_ until you officially graduate.”  
  
“Yeah,” she replied. Made sense. She was only a few months from graduation now.  
  
“And we still need to find the right firm for you. I’d like you to interview with deMedici  & deMedici.”  
  
Franky straightened up, loosening her hold on the professor. “Oi, Erica! You can get me in there? They only take, like, Review editors or the cream of the crop! Plus, I have a record. I was thinking I would be lucky if I got in with a community legal center.”  
  
DeMedici & deMedici was _the_ rock star of law firms in Victoria. Their clients were mostly very high profile corporations and celebrities. And the deMedici family didn’t lose. The firm was 75 years old and in it’s third generation of deMedici men partners - currently a grandfather, his three sons and five grandsons. And then there was Michael. The first girl ever to partner with the deMedici boys in the firm. And she was hot as fuck. The whole family was strikingly good looking, but Michael took it to another level. She could have been a cover girl — long, straight midnight tresses. And violet eyes. She would have leveled Elizabeth Taylor. Franky wouldn’t mind working under Michael deMedici at all.  
  
“We can find you an excellent firm that does the corporate stuff that wets your knickers, Franky. I know people. You only do community work if you want to. Michael happens to be my best mate. We’ve been together since primary. We did uni and law school together.”  
  
Franky laughed out loud and released Erica entirely, making her way over to the lounge and lay down still cracking up. _Not a lesbian my arse._ “You do know that Michael is gay,” Franky said between giggles.  
  
“Of course,” Erica responded, puzzled. “Why?”  
  
“Do not stand there, Miss Davidson, and tell me you never once went bumper to bumper. In what…” she actually didn’t know how much older Erica was. “25, 28 years?”  
  
Erica reddened. She should have realized Franky would immediately make _that_ connection. “Does it matter?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the door, annoyed now.  
  
Franky sighed, still chuckling. “Only if she still has the hots for you. And I have to kick her arse. Who broke it off? And when?”  
  
Erica wasn’t sure how to answer that. Or if she should at all. Maybe Michael and Franky together wasn’t such a good idea, come to think of it. Although that firm would be a fantastic fit for the younger woman. Particularly if she was paired with Michael.  
  
An amused ex-inmate watched the gears turning in the ex-governor’s head as she tried to figure out what kind of lie to tell about her relationship with the rich, statuesque barrister. “Okay. How about you wait until you’re ready to tell me the truth about fucking Michael deMedici? Remember? No lies. Come over here,” she held one hand out as she moved to a sitting position on the lounge.  
  
Erica crossed the room obediently and took the proffered hand, let herself be pulled astraddle Franky’s lap.  
  
“Franky,” she was a bit put off now. “You have to go. We’ve been in here alone together for too long already. It’s not office hours and I actually have work to do. Don’t you?” She rested her arms on Franky’s shoulders.  
  
Erica was pouting. It was very cute. _Oh god. I think I love you already._ “I know. We need to be careful. I just want to tell you how absolutely over the moon I am that you are giving me a chance to love you, Erica Davidson.”  
  
“Oh Franky,” she didn’t know what to say. She was gobsmacked. _Is it possible that she could truly be in love with me?_ Erica had tried not to get too far ahead of herself in thinking about what was in the realm of possiblity between herself and the ex-inmate. They would likely have great sex. She knew she had much deeper feelings for Franky. The way Franky bragged about her conquests back at Wentworth; and the other night admitted to fucking her way across campus over the summer; these two realities had made Erica think Franky wouldn’t want to take anyone seriously for very long. But maybe the relationship with Bridget Westfall had been solid if Franky could admit to loving her. _And there is that. She still loves the good doctor._  
  
“I don’t think…” But she was muffled by the deep, probing kiss Franky laid on her. A kiss that left her breathless.  
  
“Do that not thinking thing a lot more.” She squeezed her bum and then stood up with Erica in her arms. She kissed her again. “Can I call you later?  
  
“You’d better.”  
  
Franky left.


	5. Key to the Kingdom

“DeMedici.”  
  
“David,” the statuesque brunette practically purred into the mobile. She hadn’t heard from Erica in months.  
  
When they met in primary, Michael took an instant liking to the prissy blonde. But Erica played hard to get, claiming Michael wasn’t really a girl if she had a boy’s name. So Michael started calling her David’s son. And then just David. At first it maddened the prep girl to no end. But it turned out she liked being teased by Michael deMedici. And as they grew older they liked being Michael and David together. It was like they had a secret world shared only by the two.  
  
“I need a favor.”  
  
“Anything for you, darling. What is it?” Michael began signing papers her admin had just placed in a folder on her desk.  
  
“Franky graduates this year.”  
  
“Have you fucked her yet?”  
  
“No, Michael! She’s in one of my classes!” Erica was already exasperated. Michael and Franky were actually very much alike in many ways. One of them being the single-minded preoccupation with sex.  
  
“Do not send her here if you haven’t staked a claim, Dave. She’s amazingly gorgeous.” _I am totally hitting that if you aren’t._  
  
“I have. Staked a claim. Just not with sex. Yet.” Michael knew exactly how to push her buttons, which she loved to do. “I don’t want to stuff this up. She needs to graduate clean of a ‘sex with teacher' scandal. Especially sex with teacher who gave her an A. Which she worked very hard for and deserved.”  
  
Michael knew everything there was to know about Erica’s divorce. She was handling it. Mark wasn’t getting a damn thing he hadn’t come in with from her mate. She’d never liked him anyway. She also knew everything about Erica’s relationship with Franky Doyle. From the extreme flirting and kiss at Wentworth to their last stolen kiss at some gala a few months back. “Pearson’s attorney is supposed to get the paperwork over here by Friday morning. You could be a free woman by Friday night. Why haven’t you taken her to bed? Mark’s been gone, what, 24 hours now?”  
  
Erica swooned on her end of the line. The possibility that she could have Franky in her bed this weekend made her light-headed. But no. Not till end of semester. That was only two weeks away. She could still feel the burn of her soon-to-be lover’s heated kisses. “I only told Franky today that Mark moved. We had our first guilt-free snog only a few minutes ago. And aren’t you even listening to me? She’s _my student_ , you slag.”  
  
Michael rolled her eyes. If it had been her, she and Franky Doyle would have been fucking for months. She just didn’t understand where Erica got all these scruples from. “Whatever,” she replied. “Why don’t you come to the penthouse for dinner Friday? You can countersign the papers there. And we can celebrate.” Michael’s eyebrow went up at the silence on the other end.  
  
“I’d like that,” the blonde finally said. “But I won’t stay.”  
  
“That’s fine,” _I think._ “Unless you’re going all monogamous on me…” There was more silence. “Oi, for fuckssake, David! Seriously?” She and her best mate had enjoyed on and off again casual sex since an intense affair between them had ended badly in their teens. Erica kept claiming she was straight. Michael let her believe it. As long as when she got those deviant cravings, which she did fairly regularly, she let Michael take care of them. Erica had spent nearly a month in her bed after she left Wentworth.  
  
“I’m not cheating on Franky, Michael.”  
  
“It’s not cheating! It’s us!”  
  
Franky was right. Erica lied to herself for decades. She had been having sex with Michael deMedici since they were teens. She’d had more and better sex with her mate than she’d had with Mark. Her chest began to hurt. Michael couldn’t possibly be in love with her. The two long-time friends hashed that all out years ago. But things needed to change. She needed to change.  
  
“I think I love her,” she thought again about how to come out to her family. To her friends, if Mark hadn’t outed her already. “I’ve already made so many mistakes. I’m not going to start off with her by sleeping with you. That has to stop, Michael.”  
  
Michael blew out a frustrated breath. She was sad and angry at the prospect of not having sexual access to her best mate. The sex was amazing. And Erica was one of the few authentic relationships in her life. She didn’t want to lose any aspect of it. _I’m going to annihilate this bitch if she isn’t worthy of my girl._ “Have her send her c.v. to me, give her my email. We don’t really have any entry level associate positions right now. Unless this wanker who started a couple months ago doesn’t make it out of probation. But I’ll talk to her.”  
  
“Talking. Interviewing. No flirting, Michael. Because if she flirts back, which she will, I will have to kill you both.”  
  
Michael snorted with laughter. Dave was the only one that could elicit that sound from the chronically suave and debonair deMedici. “Can you bring her to dinner Friday?”  
  
“No! Yes. Maybe.” If the divorce papers were there, there wasn’t any reason to not have dinner with Franky. Just dinner. There was still another week until the term was out. And it would be good to introduce Franky to Michael in an informal setting. Well, if you could call anything about her insanely appointed penthouse informal. That way she could monitor the chemistry between them. “Yes. That’s a very good idea, actually.” Mark her territory. _Franky’s mine, deMedici._  
  
“Nice. See you then, love,” Michael rang off.  
  
******************************************  
  
“Well, she must be seeing someone. Franky Doyle is a whore. Find out who it is!”  
  
Joan Ferguson was in the visitation room with her niece, Tansy. Tansy was a tall, thin, sullen girl of 20 years. She just happened to be in her freshman year at University of Melbourne when Joan was imprisoned. Joan had developed an affinity for Tansy when the girl was very small; and cultivated the relationship, alternately spoiling her then brutally berating and degrading her. At this point the young woman was completely under her Aunt’s emotional and psychological control.  
  
“I’ve told you all I know,” Tansy whined. “After she broke up with Dr. Westfall, she slagged around all summer. Then when classes started, nothing.”  
  
“She’s always seeing someone. Probably someone married. Keep following her. Find out!” Joan footed the expenses for Tansy’s education, including a generous stipend for spending money. She ‘worked’ for Joan, running errands. Delivering messages. Terrorizing people. Blackmailing people.  
  
Tansy enjoyed the ‘work’ she did for her aunt. She felt she was gaining valuable skills which would be useful in her chosen career of law enforcement. “She’s not. I’m telling you, Aunt…”  
  
“You may call me Governor,” Joan snapped. “She is. Look up the staff at Wentworth during Franky’s sentence. Cross reference those people with faculty at the university and at the law school.” She stood up, effectively dismissing her niece. “And find Erica Davidson.”  
  
***********************************  
  
“Yeah. Finals next week,” Franky said, settling herself on the stairs outside the law school building. She had a few minutes to kill before class and was hoping she might run into Erica on the way in. But right now, she was enjoying a telephone catch up with Gidge.  
  
Except for one little distraction. This freakishly pale girl in a hoodie who she’d been seeing a little too often over the past few months. The girl was sitting now on the other end of the steps pretending to read.  
  
“Are you ready?” Bridget asked from her office downtown. She was between clients. “How is the studying going?”  
  
“Good. Fine. Erica’s going to work with me a little this weekend. Make sure I’ve mastered the material.” She stood up and walked toward the girl but scanned the people in front of the building as if she was looking for someone.  
  
“And how are things with Erica?” Bridget wondered if she really wanted to know this.  
  
Franky wondered how much Gidge really wanted to know. “Great,” she smiled to herself, continuing to move toward the hoody. “We’re going to dinner this Friday with Michael deMedici. Wait. You’re going to love this.” She had just reached the girl and kicked her bag, pretending to stumble over it.  
  
“Oi! Shit! Sorry. Hold on a sec,” she said into her mobile as she crouched to get a good look at the young woman’s face and help her recollect the items that fell from her bag. One of which was a wallet that conveniently flipped open to show her student i.d. _At least she’s actually a student. Tansy Ferguson. Why does she look familiar?_  
  
“Are you right?” she asked the young woman. But before she could answer, Franky walked away toward the building.  
  
“I mean how are things going romantically between you and Erica? Didn’t you tell me she’s in the middle of a divorce? Surely something has happened.”  
  
“Wait. DeMedici. You know about deMedici Law, right?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Franky lowered her voice. “So Erica ‘I’m not a lesbian!’ Davidson has been besties with Michael deMedici since prep in primary,” she lowered her voice further, realizing she was in a lobby full of peers — both hers and Erica’s. She looked for an empty classroom to have privacy for the few more minutes she could spare talking to Gidge. “Can you believe it?”  
  
Even Bridget had to laugh at that. “That is good.” _Unbelievable. Why waste all that time, Erica?_ “So why are you having dinner there together? Is she going to hire you?”  
  
“Dunno. Erica thinks it’s a good idea to meet casually, and deMedici is handling her divorce. They’re meeting Friday to sign some stuff and have dinner. She says that I’ll definitely get an interview, though.”  
  
Bridget beamed. “That is fantastic, Franky! I am so proud of you! I told you Erica was good for you. Now go to class. I’ll talk to you later.”  
  
“Love you, Gidge.”  
  
“Love you too, Franky.”  
  
Bridget hung up the phone and walked over to the window of her office, looking out at the courtyard below. She’d been on probation now for four months. _Only eight more to go_ , she thought bitterly. Belle had been right. Her proactive approach to the Australian Psychology Association’s ethics board shortened the investigation and the hearing processes significantly. She admitted everything: to being attracted to Franky at Wentworth; to transferring her care to another psychologist because of it; to housing her — and having sex with her — when she was released on parole. And she told them she ended the relationship.  
  
And Franky. Dear, brave, sweet Franky, had made a statement to the board without being asked. And she showed up at Bridget’s hearing unasked. When the board requested that Bridget identify one or more people to speak for her character, she only asked Belle to be there for her. But to her surprise, seven other colleagues in the field, plus Franky, stood up in the room that day. Mark Pearson turned in a stupefying supporting appearance, given his bitter statement about it definitely being Franky’s fault as she’d also seduced his own wife. Twice. It was almost believable that Franky was some sort of Svengali character and Bridget the innocent victim of her charms, the way Mark laid it out. The six other colleagues were some of her closest friends and practitioners. She was moved to tears in that room, a number of times.  
  
And the board went relatively easy on her. One year of probation, and no permanent mark on her record if she honored the remainder of the “no screwing your patients” period before she started any physical intimacy with Franky again. She’d agreed. It sort of worked out that her probation would end at the same time the two-year window finished. All tied up nicely and neatly. Eight more months.  
  
She had lost a few patients. But she’d also had new referrals from colleagues. All around, she’d got off quite easy. Except for missing Franky. And Franky beginning to date Erica. That cut like a knife.  
  
Her mobile pinged. She went to her desk and picked it up. Franky was texting her. She should be in class.  
  
_When and how did you find out your license was under investigation?_  
  
_Official letter from the AMA the day of the MAP dinner. Why?_  
  
_How would they know? About us?”_  
  
_The same someone who sent me a photo of us kissing in front of the townhouse probably sent it to someone there._  
  
_Shit! Ferguson!!!!!!!_  
  
_What? How?_  
  
_Fucking cunt! I’m going to kill her!_  
  
_Delete that. Now. How is that possible?_  
  
_I’ll call you when I can._  
  
****************************  
  
Franky rode in the passenger seat of Erica’s Mercedes, debating in her mind whether to put her hand on Erica’s thigh or not. She had a short skirt on and boots. No stockings. There was a tantalizing bit of bare skin between the bottom of the skirt and the top of the boot.  
  
She looked out the window in order to stop ogling Erica’s flesh. “Do you know Joan Ferguson?”  
  
Erica glanced at her, shifted into third. The car was a manual, which impressed Franky. The professor thanked the gods she’d opted for this model. “Former governor now insane criminal Joan Ferguson?”  
  
They were on their way to dinner at Michael deMedici’s penthouse. Franky wondered if she should be nervous. When Erica had described the home to her, Franky was having a hard time imagining it. She had never experienced that level of wealth and privilege before. She was pumped, energized. She wanted to meet this woman. Prayed to god she would end up working for her. She had warmed up all her most charming expressions for the evening to come.  
  
“Yeah. Did you ever meet her?”  
  
“No. Why?”  
  
“Just curious.” Franky had done a bit of research on this Tansy Ferguson. There wasn’t much of an online presence — a Facebook page and an Instagram account, but not much activity on either. Which was weird for a woman in her early 20’s. She only slightly resembled the Freak — pasty complexion, tall, dark brown hair. But it was enough for Franky. She was clear that Joan Ferguson was the one who had deliberately sabotaged her relationship with Gidge. What she wasn’t sure of was whether the Freak was targeting her, or Bridget, or both of them. And what else she might try to do.  
  
She looked over at Erica. If Ferguson had that skinny bitch following her, there might be trouble for the professor as well. She’d already mucked up Gidge’s life. Maybe it was time to start playing the long game. Thinking about herself as if she actually had a future. That what she was doing now might have some impact on the next year, five years. And she actually had an idea where she wanted to be in five years. Her idea included Erica. Or Gidge. Or both women in some way, if that was possible.  
  
“What if we waited to start dating? Until after graduation?” She resisted the urge, again, to put her hand on the smooth, creamy skin beckoning from the driver’s seat.  
  
Erica frowned. “That would be best, to be honest.” She swallowed. _But that means you’ll be fucking your way across campus again for the next few months. And I’ll have to kill them all._ “How did you come up with that? It’s very un-Franky-like.”  
  
“Reckon?” The younger woman replied sarcastically. “Seriously though Erica. After everything that’s happened with Bridget… I just don’t want anything to come between us.” She examined her fingernails. “And I do know that all of your pretense at resisting me has ultimately been for my benefit. Keeping me on the straight and narrow.”  
  
Erica smiled. “So you think it was pretense, yeah?”  
  
Franky smiled too, finally giving in to her compulsion and placing her hand on Erica’s thigh, sliding it back, pushing the skirt up slightly.  
  
The blonde gasped and her leg jerked as she pulled into the underground carpark. “Franky! Stop that!”  
  
The younger woman chuckled and pulled her hand away. As they walked to the lift together, Franky touched Erica again.  
  
“Ahhhhh?” Erica questioned, looking down pointedly at their interlaced fingers. “I thought we weren’t dating.”  
  
“We aren’t. Until at least after finals, right? Next week.”  
  
“How about three months — after graduation?”  
  
The lift opened and they stepped in. As soon as the doors closed, Franky leaned against the back wall and pulled Erica against her. The kiss started slowly as a gentle caress. But when Erica whimpered and sighed into it, wrapping her arms about Franky’s head, the younger woman started to unravel. She felt a burn low in her belly and pushed her tongue aggressively against the blonde’s, kissing her harder. Deeper. Erica moaned. Franky’s hands found their way up under her skirt, cupping, squeezing that perfect arse, pulling the older woman’s center firmly against her thigh.  
  
Erica broke the kiss, reaching back for Franky’s hands. “Stop it!” She was flushed. Definitely aroused now. She had teeny bikini panties on and her bum burned where Franky’s hands made contact with bare flesh. She closed her eyes briefly as an image of Franky’s hands on her completely bare arse flashed behind her eyelids. She forced them open. “What happened to not dating?”  
  
Franky was kissing her neck as she pulled those very enticing hands from under her dress, away from her body.  
  
“This isn’t dating,” the younger woman replied, continuing to press soft kisses across her collarbone.  
  
“You are so bad!” She scolded, replacing Franky’s hands on her bum, but on top of the fabric this time. Then she sought out the younger woman’s mouth again, tangling her fingers in the brunette’s silky hair.  
  
“Umm hmmmm,” Franky hummed against Erica’s lips, continuing to kiss her.  
  
The lift stopped moving but neither of them noticed.  
  
“Christ, Dave. Should I come back later?”  
  
Erica unpeeled herself from Franky and turned around, then waltzed out of the lift, briefly stopping to kick off her boots, kiss Michael in greeting and swat her belly. “Michael, Franky. Franky, Michael.” She continued swiftly across the large foyer toward the dining area. Her papers appeared to be laid out on the long wooden table. She was anxious to get those things signed, sealed and delivered.  
  
Franky blinked in surprise after Erica. She hadn’t blushed, hadn’t stammered. Nothing. She was completely unfazed by this Michael bestie seeing them kissing. _And Dave? Awesome! I’m finally going to find out about the real Erica Davidson._ Then she turned her eyes toward the woman who called Erica ‘Dave’.  
  
Jade met violet. Franky smiled and stepped forward out of the lift offering the statuesque brunette her hand. She tried to be cool, but this woman was breathtaking. Literally. Franky was having a hard time breathing as she examined the chiseled perfection of her face, the model thin figure, narrow hips, barely there breasts. And the woman was tall — easily a head higher than the younger woman. She was wearing a plain but elegant white silk blouse and black leggings. Her feet were bare, obviously well manicured, as were her hands. Something about a woman in black and white sent Franky’s blood racing. She swallowed nervously.  
  
Michael took Franky’s hand, shaking it firmly, leading her into the lounge area with an arm around her shoulder, hugging her familiarly. “I have been wanting to meet you, Franky Doyle, for nearly five years. I don’t know whether to kiss you for finally turning my girl out, or smack you for taking so long.”  
  
Franky sat where Michael pointed. “If I have a choice…” she started. She tried not to be to obviously overwhelmed by this place, but it was stunning. Two story floor to ceiling windows framed a view of an immaculately appointed rooftop terrace and a brilliant view of the Melbourne skyline and harbor.  
  
“No kissing!” Erica said from across the room. “Michael, show me where to sign!”  
  
Michael sat down next to Franky, leaning into her as she draped an arm across the back of the couch, nearly but not quite touching Franky’s shoulders. “Next to the little yellow sticky arrows, you moron,” she answered Erica. “I got your c.v.,” she said to Franky, eyeing her appreciatively from head to toe. “What makes you think you would be a good fit inside…” she licked her lips suggestively, “deMedici  & deMedici?”  
  
Franky laughed. The woman oozed sex at an almost comic level. She put her head back against the lounge, against Michael’s arm and slid her hips forward so that she was comfortably slouched, nearly in the taller woman’s embrace. “I aim to be somewhere inside a firm practicing corporate law. I’m brilliant. Ambitious. Eager to please.” She took a long look down Michael’s torso. The blouse was unbuttoned lower then she’d remembered it by the lift. She could now see the curve of Michael’s breast. She trapped her lower lip between her teeth for a moment as she met the taller woman’s gaze again. “If you don’t take me inside, deMedici, your loss,” she finished, smiling brashly.  
  
Michael was impressed. Most people became a little discombobulated under the full force of her aggressively sexual flirting. This Doyle kid gave as good as she got. DeMedici understood immediately why Dave was drawn to the former prisoner many years ago. And why she was flitting about like a hormonal, smitten teen now.  
  
Erica appeared in front of them at that point, staring daggers at her mate. Michael smiled back cheekily.  
  
“All the i’s dotted and t’s crossed?”  
  
“Yes,” Erica practically growled. _Get off of my… Franky! Damn you, you’re deliberately winding me up._ “And can you at least try to show some restraint? If you hire her, she can already sue you for harassment.” She was more than a little put out at how quickly she got angry at Michael’s flirting with Franky. She knew her mate wouldn’t actually do anything. _Well, maybe she would._ But Erica didn’t have a lot of experience with jealousy. It had never even occurred to her to be jealous of anyone when she dated men. While she was married to Mark. She just didn’t care.  
  
Even when she’d dated Michael all those years ago, she’d had only a few moments of possessiveness about her girlfriend. But nothing this intense. She wanted to stab that creamy, lightly tanned, svelte arm behind her… _girlfriend. Just say it. Admit it. You are already dating. She’s your girlfriend. Exclusively._ She wanted to stab that arm behind Franky’s head with a fork.  
  
Franky cocked her head, watching Erica. _Are you seriously jealous? We aren’t even dating yet! Hah! Another side of Miss Davidson I had no idea existed. I think I like this deMedici. Please please please hire me. Please._  
  
Michael looked down at her then. Franky wondered what she was thinking. She looked like she was going to kiss her. Instead she stood up.  
  
“You countersigned both copies?” She asked Erica, standing in front of her.  
  
“Of course,” Erica groused. She hated this feeling. It made her feel like a pouty child. She probably looked like one too.  
  
“Jesus!” Michael rolled her eyes, squeezing Erica’s face with one hand. She leaned down kissing her soundly on the lips. “I cannot understand how you haven’t been fucking her silly for months.” She gently caught her mate about the neck with the crook of her arm, kissing her on the her temple. “I’ve missed you, Dave. I’ll go .pdf the docs to Pearson’s lawyer and call a courier,” she moved away from Erica toward the dining table. After quickly rifling through the papers there, she picked them up. “Meanwhile, why don’t you pop a bottle of bubbly?” She indicated her head toward the bar.  
  
Of course there was a fully appointed bar in this ridiculous penthouse. Franky’s eyebrows arched high and she stood up next to Erica, casually draping an arm about her waist. “What kind of bubbly does a deMedici stock, reckon?”  
  
Erica turned to face her, grappling with her swirling emotions. Surely she was being ridiculous. “Of course you’re attracted to her. Everyone’s attracted to her.” She straightened Franky’s collar, picking pretend lint off it. She just wanted to touch her.  
  
_Oh man. Jealous Erica. Completely adorable._ She leaned in, kissed that pouty lower lip. Then the top one, then did a swift but deep dive that included both lips and generous use of tongue. “I’m only interested in you, love,” she said, then headed for the bar. “No one else. Even if we aren’t dating yet.”  
  
Erica was frozen in place, feeling mildly dazed from that kiss. Her lips were tingling. _What in the world is she doing to me?_ At least she’d forgotten about being jealous. Except for Bridget. _What about Bridget Westfall? Is she still in love with her? Gaaaah! Stop it!_  
  
“This is crazy,” she said out loud. Was this what love was? Manic emotional loops? Hazy confusion just from a kiss? There had to be something else going on. _Maybe Franky exudes some type of unique pheromone, like those spiders that paralyze you with venom and then eat you alive. Okay. Just stop it._  
  
“Fuckall! Miss Davidson!” Franky had disappeared behind the bar, where a small but well stocked refrigerator revealed at least 20 bottles of wine. Five were champagne. Two Veuve Clicquot and three Dom Perignon. “Erica! Get over here.” Franky had rarely even seen a fifty dollar bottle of wine, let alone drank one. The Dom was over $200.  
  
Erica leaned over the bar trying to see what had Franky so excited. “Oh! Definitely the Dom. When deMedici gets back down here, that means the paperwork has been sent and I’m officially divorced!”  
  
Franky pulled out the expensive champagne and placed it within Erica’s reach, then secured three classic, saucer shaped champagne glasses. She came around the bar to stand in front of the blonde. “Divorced.”  
  
Erica nodded her eyes widening. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Franky that. Yet. The younger woman’s gaze was hungry. Ravenous, even. “Franky…”  
  
Unless the place was bugged by Ferguson’s people, which was impossible even in theory, there was no way anyone would know who was fucking who if they all stayed over night in this mansion. “I’m thinking we should spend the night. I’m sure you’ve done it plenty of times, aye?” She winked knowingly.  
  
Erica reddened instantly. Then decided it was time to get this out of the way. Franky was driving her nuts. And soon enough, everyone else was going to know it too. A number of people were going to question her long term ‘friendship’ with Michael. “As a matter of fact, Franky Doyle, I have been in Michael’s bed a number of times. We were together. But that was in college, over 15 years ago,” she watched Franky’s eyebrow arch even higher. “And maybe we’ve had a couple of casual encounters over the years.”  
  
_Casual encounters. Right_ , she mouthed. _Lesbian_. She pointed at Erica.  
  
Erica grabbed the pointing finger. “Don’t get too full of yourself. We. Aren’t. Even. Dating. Yet.”  
  
Franky grabbed Erica’s waist and spun them back over to the couch where she fell on top of her, pinning her hands beside her head. “I think we are, Miss Davidson. And you’re a lesbian. A repressed lesbian, but not for much longer.”  
  
“Stop it.” Erica struggled underneath her. A little.  
  
“Why don’t you just admit it?”  
  
This was turning into a date. This was not supposed to be a date. It was supposed to be just dinner, meet your potential new boss; sign divorce papers. Hadn’t they just been talking in the car about waiting until after graduation? Why the hell couldn’t she control herself around this woman? “Why don’t you just kiss me?”  
  
Franky was not going to argue with that. She kissed the girl.  
  
“Christ almighty, David!” Michael came back down the stairs and headed for the bar. “Why don’t you just get a room already? No one’s here but me. There are four perfectly good suites upstairs. I won’t take it personally and I can have dinner sent up.” She peeled the foil from the top of the champagne bottle.  
  
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Franky contributed, as Erica pushed at her, trying to get her from on top. Franky finally relented and stood up, joining Michael at the bar. “I like the way you think, deMedici.”  
  
Erica stood up and straightened her clothes, watching as Michael popped the cork and Franky held the glasses for her. They seemed like two peas in a pod. That could be a good thing. It could also be a very bad thing. Maybe she should spend the night here with the younger woman. There was something about the idea of waking up in bed with Franky, in her arms, that was immensely appealing to the professor. And also clarifying for her mate whose bed Franky belonged in. Besides, she was now officially divorced…  
  
But this wasn’t about her. Franky was still her student. At the very least they needed to get that complication out of the way. Having the class nullified or her grades thrown out would completely derail the younger woman. And she had worked _so hard_ over the past year, acing her classes, staying out of trouble. Staying employed. Keeping up with her parole officer. She had been stellar, except for the thing with Dr. Westfall. Which wasn’t her fault.  
  
“Seriously. If I have to watch you two snogging all night, I’m going to my room and locking the door.” She passed Erica a glass of bubbly.  
  
“Whatcha reckon, David?” Franky asked, saucily. She liked this nickname for Erica. Especially since she was so fucking girly.  
  
“I think that as your professor and mentor, I have to keep advising you against sleeping with the faculty. Particularly the ones that teach your courses, Miss Doyle.” She frowned. Only Michael deMedici had ever used that nickname with her. As soon as it came from Franky’s mouth, she had a horrible vision of she and Franky having sex, and Franky calling her ‘David’, and her calling Franky ‘Michael’. “And you don’t get to call me that. Only the annoying slag who has been calling me that since I was five years old gets to call me that.”  
  
“Nice,” hissed Michael.  
  
“Ahhh, damn,” Franky looked at Michael. “She went all formal on me.”  
  
“I’m not on faculty though, am I?” DeMedici leered at Franky.  
  
The younger woman chuckled. “No,” she said, taking Erica’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “But I’m taken.”  
  
Michael took a deep breath. They were heart-breakingly sweet together, Dave and Franky. “Too bad for you,” she said, holding her glass up. “David. Shall we drink to your five seconds of freedom?”  
  
Erica blinked. Quickly. Then blushed slightly. She grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled her just out of Franky’s hearing distance. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Come on! We haven’t even started dating yet. You want her to think I’ve told you I want to marry her?”  
  
Michael rolled her eyes. “My god. When did you start taking yourself so fucking seriously? And have you looked in a mirror lately? You are completely gone on her. I’ve never seen you this happy.” She cupped Erica’s cheek, stroked it with her thumb. “She’s pretty stuck on you too, it seems. You guys look like teenagers.” She took a sip from her glass. “But that doesn’t mean you have to act like one…”  
  
Erica’s expression softened. “Really? It’s just that this is all pretty new to me, you know?” Michael nodded, still caressing her face. “I don’t want to mess it up. Plus, that Westfall woman is still lurking.”  
  
“I could have her killed,” Michael said earnestly. “I would do that for you Dave.”  
  
She chuckled. “I’ll take a raincheck. For now.”  
  
Michael kissed her forehead. “Stop worrying so much. Do whatever you need to do. Sooner than later you’ll be fucking like bunnies. She still wants you five years later. I think you don’t need to be jealous of anyone else for awhile.”  
  
“I’m starting to take this personally, kids. Was it something I said?” Franky wandered over to where they were standing.  
  
“My girl David was just reminding me about the proper toasting etiquette. So let’s try this again. To clean divorces and new beginnings!” They clicked glasses and drank.  
  
“I rather liked the five seconds of freedom one,” Franky slipped behind Erica, draping an arm across her belly and kissing her ear.  
  
Michael deMedici decided on the spot that she was going to hire Franky Doyle. First, she was witty, intelligent and lovely enough to capture Erica’s heart, something even Michael had failed to do. Second, she already felt a rapport with the young woman — she didn’t seem at all intimidated by deMedici. It was refreshing. Third, if David screwed the pooch with the heartbreaker, Michael would be nearby to pick up the pieces. Not to mention her c.v. was impressive. Oh. And she’d probably be seeing a lot more of Erica with Franky Doyle as one of the deMedici minions. No brainer.  
  
“I would like to make another toast, if you don’t mind,” she said.  
  
Franky had just pushed Erica’s hair from her neck, intending to kiss her there. _Why can’t I keep my hands off her for five minutes? And why is deMedici throwing salt in my game?_ She looked up curiously.  
  
Erica was intrigued. “Of course. What’s up?”  
  
“Franky Doyle.” She smirked. “Newest associate at deMedici  & deMedici!”  
  
Erica put her glass up instantly. “I love it!”  
  
Franky tentatively added her glass to the fray. “Wait. Can you just do that? I haven’t even interviewed.”  
  
“It’s my firm, Doyle. I can do what I want, reckon?”  
  
Franky was gobsmacked. “Really?” _Is life always this fucking easy for rich people? I don’t even have any words right now._ Barely three years ago she’d been sitting in her cell in Wentworth doubting she would ever see the outside again. She’d been studying, passing courses. But hell. Before Erica, she didn’t think she’d have a pot to shit in. Ever. But then Erica broadened her horizons. And Gidget made her grow up.  
  
If she didn’t fuck this up, she might actually make it with Erica. Have a salary and a career that the blonde wouldn’t be embarrassed to be associated with. That Gidge would be proud of. And yes, these things worried her.  
  
Michael deMedici had just given her a key to the golden kingdom. And her first experience with $200-a-bottle champagne. Which was magnificent, by the way. She drained her glass. “I don’t know what to say,” she was somber. “How do I thank you?”  
  
Erica laughed. “Don’t thank her yet, love” she caressed Franky’s face briefly. ”Wait until you experience the inferno personally. Then decide if you want to thank anyone.”  
  
Michael put her glass down on the bar and approached Franky, curling a hand around the back of her neck. “I can think of a way for you to thank me,” her smile was sensual. She stared into Franky’s eyes. “Dave? You mind? Just this once?”  
  
_No! No! Erica — you don’t want to see this._ Franky was transfixed. Was this woman, Erica’s best friend, her new boss, really going to kiss her? Seriously? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist kissing her back. Enthusiastically. I mean seriously. If Xena, Warrior Princess, kissed you, wouldn’t you kiss her back? Even if you were married?  
  
Erica sighed heavily. She should say no. She definitely didn’t want to see Franky kissing Michael. But it was just a kiss. Maybe she could make sure it was the only one. “This one time, Michael. And you don’t fuck with her at the office. Ever. Deal?”  
  
“Wait, don’t I get a say in this?” Franky gave Erica a confused, panicked look. _You don’t have to do this, damnit!_  
  
“Whether I fuck with you at the office, no. But Dave does.” She cupped Franky’s face, looking down at her. “You don’t want to kiss me?” She cocked her head. _Liar_. “Are you both seriously this insecure?” She looked between her two dinner guests. “It’s just a kiss!”  
  
_Insecure my arse._ That just made Franky angry. She put her hands on Michael’s hips and went for it, leaning in, taking her mouth possessively. Expertly. Their tongues sliding together, battling for dominance. _Damn. She’s good. But she aint Erica._ Franky pulled back. Michael looked a little stunned.

"Thank you." Franky grinned cheekily and swaggered back to where Erica was standing with her mouth open. She encircled her waist from behind and kissed her ear. “No comparison,” she whispered.  
   
The blonde cleared her throat. “That was actually kind of hot.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Michael said, licking her lips. She moved toward the bar to collect the bottle and mouthed _wow_ to Erica as she passed. “Anyone want a refill?”


	6. Date Night

It was late November, balmy. Franky sat in her black 2010 Audi A4 outside Erica’s flat. Waiting. She still had her gown on. She’d graduated from law school barely an hour ago. Her course mates were completely baffled as to why she wasn’t going out and getting shit-faced with the rest of them; but she had a far more private celebration in mind.  
  
After their playful evening together with deMedici, they had a very serious talk in the car on the way home. Erica really wanted to wait to consummate the relationship until Franky graduated. The younger woman conceded that the professor had been giving her very good advice so far, and even just scored her the job of the century. She grumbled about it, but finally agreed that it made sense. They parted ways with the understanding that they would remain strictly professor and student, with some shared dinners out, until Frank had her degree.  
  
She pulled the gown off and tossed it in the back seat. Franky wouldn’t start at deMedici & deMedici for another two weeks and her internship had finished. Even though she still had to pass the bar to be an accredited barrister, that was practically a foregone conclusion. For the first time in her life, Franky had some down time and she wasn’t scrambling for cash to pay the rent or buy food. Sharing the flat with three other girls plus the stipend paid by Davidson Law allowed her to save. And her school tuition was scholarshipped. With three months of expenses in the bank taking two weeks off was going to be cake. She wondered if Erica would be willing to go away with her for a weekend. She closed her eyes, letting the seat back, imagining Miss Davidson in a bikini on the beach.  
  
She could almost feel the sand between her toes, Erica’s hot, wet, golden body pressed against hers, the sun on her head, the taste of salt on Miss Davidson’s lips…  when her mobile buzzed against her chest. She put it there for fear of dozing off and missing Erica’s call. Preperation for finals had been brutal and she’d not slept 12 full hours across the past five days. She twitched, startled, nearly dropping it into the crevice between the seats. Then laughed at herself for being so jumpy.  
  
“Hello, love.” She finally got the mobile to cooperate.  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“Downstairs. Waiting.” She could see Erica smiling in her mind’s eye.  
  
“What are you doing down there?”  
  
“Playing with myself. Thinking of you.”  
  
“When you're finished come up,” she rang off.  
  
She got out of her car, looked both ways in preparation to cross when she noticed the young woman standing in front of Erica’s building, scanning the registry. She looked like the stalker but wasn’t wearing a hoody today. A baseball cap and sunglasses.  
  
“Hey!” Franky called as she started jogging toward the young woman.  
  
She looked up, startled. When she saw Franky coming at her she took off running.  
  
_Fucking Ferguson! What the…_ Frank sprinted after her, catching her about a half a block up. The girl was awkward and slow and the recent graduate simply grabbed a handful of the back of her t-shirt. She pushed her face first into the lawn there and put a knee on her back, twisting an arm behind her as well.  
  
“What the fuck, Tansy Ferguson?” she demanded. “And don’t say you were just in the neighborhood.” She wrenched the arm back enough to cause the young woman pain.  
  
“I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m not doing anything wrong!”  
  
“You’ve been minding my bloody business a little too much over the past few months! If you don’t want me to break your fucking arm, you’ll tell me why! What the fuck does Ferguson want?”  
  
She said nothing. Franky yanked the arm back a bit more. This was a dangerous game. She was just off parole. Just graduated with a law degree. She looked around. There wasn’t anyone within eyeshot that seemed to be paying attention to this little drama.  
  
“Owww! Help! You’re hurting me!” Tansy screamed.  
  
Franky sprang off of her but grabbed her backpack and rifled through it. The other girl rolled away into a crouching position, rubbing her shoulder. The graduate found the wallet, took the school i.d., the drivers’ license.  
  
“You can’t take that!”  
  
“I can do whatever I bloody want,” Franky pocketed the items. “If I ever see you anywhere near me or on this block again, I will fucking beat you to a pulp. And tell the Freak I’m onto her game. She will lose. Again.” She spat at her, then walked back toward Erica’s flat.  
  
_What the fuck? What would Ferguson possibly want with Erica? That little cunt couldn’t have known I was going to be here today, so she was looking for Erica. But why? No one even knows we’re seeing each other. We haven’t even done anything yet. Fuck!_  
  
She reclaimed the satchel she had dropped to give chase to the little cunt and sat on the steps in front of Erica’s building trying to collect her thoughts. Make sense of what the hell was going on. Ferguson had read her letters to Erica. She’d obviously had the girl watching her and Gidge and deliberately sabotaged Gidge’s career. The only thing she knew about Erica Davidson is that Franky once had a crush on her. So why would she have that kid stalking Erica?  
  
She pulled out the two id’s she confiscated. One had an address. She would look that up when she got upstairs to… _Fuck! Erica!_  
  
She jumped up and went to the intercom by the front door, buzzing the blonde’s unit. “Hey, Gorgeous. It’s me.”  
  
“Franky! I was starting to think you ditched me.” The door buzzed and unlocked.  
  
Franky pushed through it and jogged to the lift. Less than two minutes later she emerged on the tenth floor sprinting toward 10A. She slowed up when she realized Erica was leaning against the door jamb of her flat, smiling at her.  
  
“There goes my swave and deboner entry,” she called loudly enough for Erica to hear. She jogged the rest of the way anyway. When she arrived in front of the flat, the blonde backed in and Franky followed.  
  
“Shoes off,” Erica said by way of greeting. “What took you so long?”  
  
Franky kicked off the Everlane loafers Gidge had gifted her specifically to wear for graduation. She had been ready to tell Erica all about the tussle with the Ferguson girl but her thought process was completely derailed. All the blood in her brain ran helter-skelter toward her center.

Erica stood before her in a simple outfit. She wore a button down linen shirt and black leggings. The shirt was sheer and partially unbuttoned. She could see a black, lacy bra underneath it. The blonde had no make-up on, rendering her a natural, youthful beauty normally disguised by lipstick and eyeliner. Her hair was slightly mussed, wavy. Franky realized Erica must straighten her hair. She stared at the blonde with her mouth open. Erica au naturel was more than stunning.  
  
_I was going to tell her something. What was it? About…_ “What is this?” She gestured with her chin toward Erica’s ensemble, trying to regain her equilibrium, “the Mike and Dave seduction kit?” DeMedici had something almost identical on when they’d gone for dinner at the penthouse.  
  
“You mentioned on the way home that you thought black and white were very sexy on a woman.”  
  
Franky had forgot she said that. They’d talked about a lot of things on that ride home. She focused on breathing. She still couldn't quite get over how this look affected her. _Wait. Why the fuck with this idle chatter thing?_  
  
Then everything sped up. Erica collided with Franky, their mouths fusing in a heated, sloppy, dirty mashing of tongues. One or both of them moaned. Erica wrapped her legs around Franky’s waist.  
  
“I don’t know where to go,” Franky managed between heated kisses.  
  
“Left,” Erica said, moving her lips to Franky’s ear. Her neck. “Other side of the lounge.” Franky began moving to her left. “My left! Shit, Franky.” Erica was burning. She kissed her soon-to-be lover again. A kiss which lasted until they fell in a tangle of arms and legs on Erica’s bed.  
  
Erica pushed herself on top of Franky. The graduate squeezed the other woman's bum, wondering if she was wearing any knickers. _Time to find out._ She turned them over and sat back on her heels between Erica’s legs. She was definitely about to combust but she didn’t want to miss anything. And she wouldn’t get a second time for a first fuck with Miss Davidson. She wanted to look at her.  
  
Erica got up on her elbows, her hair a messy blonde halo from their frantic pawing. “What?” She asked, hazily. “What is it, Franky?”  
  
“Shhh.” Franky put a finger in front of her lips. Then reached for the waistband of Erica’s pants, tugging down. Erica obligingly lifted her hips so Franky could pull them down those shapely legs. She let them drop on the floor as she surveyed the new landscape. Those tiny black knickers were barely there. And she was wet. _Thank you Jesus! I could die now. Thank you._  
  
Franky raked the blonde lying panting on the bed with a possessive gaze. “Unbutton your shirt,” she commanded.  
  
Starting from the bottom, Erica slowly and carefully pulled each button free from it’s hole, squeezing her thighs against Franky’s hips as she watched the younger woman’s eyes grow more fevered with each further reveal of skin. Her center ached. She’d never wanted anyone so much in her life. “Franky,” she whispered. “Please.” The shirt fell completely open.  
  
Franky thought she might be having a stroke. When Erica lay before her in nothing but a bra and panties, like a fucking goddess, a bright white light flashed before her eyes. She glanced up at the headboard. It had bars. _You clever, dirty girl, Miss Davidson._ She crawled forward until she was hovering over the blonde. Erica reached up for Franky, wrapping her arms around the graduate’s neck and pulling her in for a deep, probing kiss. The younger woman lay gently on her, trying not to get too carried away. She had a plan. But Erica’s sex was hot against her thigh and it was driving her mad.  
  
She pinned Erica’s hands to the bed, then pushed them toward the headboard. “Grab the bars. Don’t let go.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Don’t ask me questions right now or I’ll spank you.”  
  
Erica’s grin was wicked. “Maybe I’ll like it.”  
  
Franky smirked. “Oh, I know you’ll like it. But that’s for later. Right now just grab the bars.” She was on all fours hovering, but not touching.  
  
“Are you going to take your clothes off?”  
  
Franky looked incredulous. “Hah! What didn’t you understand about, ‘Don’t ask me any questions’?”  
  
“But I want to see you. And why do you get to be the boss?” Erica said, wrinkling her nose impishly. She grabbed the bars but lifted one knee, pressed it against Franky’s hip, placing her calf on Franky’s bum.  
  
“Because I am the boss of you, now stop talking!” She lay half on Erica kissing her to shut her up, reaching underneath her with one hand to quickly unfasten her bra. When she felt it come lose she moved immediately down to breast level, stopping to admire the perfect orbs, then flicking one nipple with her tongue. She took as much of the breast into her mouth as she could, rolling the nipple against the back of her tongue..  
  
Erica moaned, pressing her crotch hard against Franky’s thigh, then put her hand on the back of Franky’s head, urging her on. “Harder, Franky. Please!” She pleaded.  
  
Franky stopped what she was doing and looked up with one eye still closed.  
  
“Fuck! What now?”  
  
She released the delectable morsel. “Hands, Erica. Grab the bars. Do not let go until I say you can let go.” She bit the nipple lightly. Erica’s hips spasmed. “Understand?”  
  
“Argh! Fuck you,” she wrinkled her nose again in a faux snarl. “Fine!” She glared down at Franky, who glared back evilly.  
  
Then she moved to the other nipple, giving it the increased pressure Erica seemed to want.  
  
“Ahhhhhhh…”  
  
She slid her hand slowly down the blonde’s belly, continuing into the front of those barely-there panties. The girl was drenched. Fuck!  
  
“Oh god,” Erica hissed, her hips arching, pressing her hot, soaking sex into Franky’s hand.  
  
Franky massaged the slick folds and quickly slid two fingers in and began stroking. Then added a third. The pace ratcheted up more quickly than the younger woman thought it would. Erica was on fire. She took a quick break to completely strip the panties off, then grabbed a handful of Erica’s hair for leverage, leaned in, and fucked her lover with force. Erica was spouting nonsense, getting louder and louder. The brunette tightened her grip in blonde locks, intentionally causing pain once she realized it was connected to the now frantic thrusting of the older woman’s sex on her fingers. Within a few minutes Erica’s thighs clamped together on Franky’s hand and forearm as her entire body vibrated. She was shaking so hard Franky swore the girl levitated from the bed.  
  
And she squirted when she came. Female ejaculation was a curious phenomenon. Not many women were able to make that happen for themselves. But Franky knew a secret about how to elicit that type of response if it was possible. And honestly, she’d assumed Erica was much too repressed for it. That it would take years for them to work up to it. But apparently Miss Davidson was practicing ‘not being a lesbian’ with Michael deMedici, or some other lucky chick, much more often than she let on.  
  
Franky was over the moon. She loved for a woman to come like that in her mouth. Next time she would be prepared.  
  
She sat back on her knees, finally disrobing as Erica lay twitching, watching her, eyes half-closed. She was still holding onto the bars in the headboard as instructed. Franky grinned at her as she stood up on the bed to remove her slacks and knickers, tossing them on the floor.  
  
Then she lay down, putting her full, naked body on top of Erica, and kissed her. The blonde wrapped her arms and legs around her lover, still twitching, and kissed her back.  
  
Franky grinned down at her like the Cheshire cat. “You right, love?”  
  
Erica snorted. “Fuck,” was all she could manage in the moment.  
  
Franky wasn’t even close to finished. She went to work again, this time pressing soft kisses along Erica’s neck, her collarbone, slowly working her way to points further south. When she reached the older woman’s hips, she felt fingers tangling in her hair, tugging gently.  
  
“I can’t come again so soon. You’ll waste good effort.”  
  
Franky looked up at her, settling her shoulders between Erica’s legs. “Yeah. You can,” she said very seriously, kissing the top of her slit.  
  
The blonde chuckled. “I’m certainly not going to stop you from trying, love,” she caressed Franky’s face, spread her legs a little wider and reached for the bars in the headboard again. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the sensual caress of Franky’s lips and tongue in her most intimate, sensitive place. It was hypnotic. Heavenly. Dreamy. After several minutes, her eyes blinked open in surprise as she realized she had started a slow, even grind against Franky’s mouth. And that she was, in fact, building toward another orgasm.  
  
As Franky continued to minister to her nether region, Erica struggled to understand what the hell her body was doing. She’d never felt a climax come on this slowly, but she was 100% confident that Franky knew what she was doing. The build-up was both agonizing and intoxicating. She looked down to see both her hands clutched in Franky’s hair, urging her on. She reached back up for the bars. The younger woman kept to her own pace and the rest of the blonde’s body obeyed.  
  
This went on for several more minutes. Finally she was on the brink, bucking earnestly against that talented tongue. But Franky backed off, only to start again, letting Erica build to an edge, then slow it down.  
  
She growled in frustration. “Fuck, Franky. Come on! Let me come!”  
  
“Stop trying to force it, love,” Franky said softly, smiling up at her. “Let me bring it to you. Try to relax into it.”  
  
Erica had never heard of such a thing. But she did it. Stopped bucking. Stopped humping. Stopped working for it and let Franky take the lead. Within a short few minutes a type of pleasure Erica didn’t know existed washed over her unexpectedly. Then again. Franky slipped two fingers in, pressing and rubbing and a brick wall of ecstasy slammed Erica’s center, breaking into a wave that didn’t stop. A white light exploded in her brain and she didn’t know anything else.  
  
******************************  
  
She awoke with a jerk in complete darkness, disoriented. Then Erica felt fingers playing in her hair, more fingers lightly tracing a pattern from her ribs to her bum, then back up.  
  
“Franky?” she croaked, then cleared her throat.  
  
The chest underneath her cheek rumbled as the younger woman chuckled. “You were expecting someone else?”  
  
Erica laughed too, as she moved astride the younger woman’s hips and turned on the bedside light. She took her time looking over naked Franky Doyle underneath her, shifting back slightly so she could see her sex, too. There wasn’t a hint of shyness for either of them as they looked each other over fully for the first time. For Erica it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be here with Franky like this.  
  
“What did you do to me,” she said, falling forward against Franky’s chest. She kissed her for a long time, then slid to one side, on an elbow. “Seriously. What was that?”  
  
“Proper lovemaking, Miss Davidson. I take it it was your first time.”  
  
Her brow crinkled in confusion, then she scooted back up on top of the younger woman, feeling the sheet where her bum had just been. “How did we get this big wet spot?” Even with Mark, there wasn’t that big of a wet spot.  
  
“You, my love,” Franky squeezed her arse, “have magic ejaculatory powers, the likes of which I’ve rarely seen.”  
  
“Hah!” Erica laughed skeptically. “Uh, no, I don’t.”  
  
“Yeah. You do.” Franky rolled them over so she was on top. She kissed Erica playfully one time. Then again. Then a third time, then looked into her eyes for a moment. And was very worried by what she saw there, so she moved to the older woman’s neck placing soft kisses there, across her collarbone. Uh oh. _You’re either going to fight or flee. Please fight. I am crazy for you. If this is the just the beginning of us together, think how far we can go. And you haven’t even touched me yet. Please fight._  
  
Erica was completely out of her element. She had no idea what had just happened to her, what Franky actually did to her body to make her feel so… She didn’t even know the words yet. Had she been unconscious? And ejaculating? She had no idea that type of pleasure even existed, and she’d certainly had her fair share of sex in her life.  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Yes love.” She continued to press kisses across Erica’s chest, soothingly stroking her hip. Come on, love. Fight me for this. We’re worth it. I guarantee it.  
  
“Is it like this for you with everyone?”  
  
Franky stopped kissing and went up on her elbows now so she could see Erica’s face. She needed to proceed delicately here. This was definitely not a time for teasing or sarcasm. Erica’s ego was healthy in other aspects of her life, but Franky suspected it had taken a blow just now relative to her sexual prowess. The younger woman wanted to encourage Erica to continue to explore what was between them; not get caught in musing about what other beds Franky had been in to learn how to do _that_.  
  
But it wasn’t even a _that_. It was just them. Their chemistry was off the bloody charts. No one had ever responded to Franky’s touch that way; and the recent graduate seemed to have an instinctive understanding of what Erica needed. But how to explain this, when Erica was feeling insecure? _We belong together. We were made for each other._ Was that going to work after only one night of lovemaking?  
  
“Now that’s the trick question of trick questions.”  
  
Erica frowned at her. “I’m serious. I want to know.”  
  
“What is it you want to know, Miss Davidson. You are definitely not like anyone else.”  
  
Her face crumpled slightly. “No, _you_ aren’t like anyone else. I’ve never…” She stopped, her breathing becoming labored. “Apparently this… it’s probably like this for you all the time, every time, isn’t it?”  
  
“Erica…”  
  
“Damn you!” Erica turned them over and sat astride Franky’s hips again, but this time pinning the younger woman’s hands to the bed near her head. “Just tell me now, Franky Doyle, if I’m like the thousand other women you fuck and forget,” she took a deep breath, shook her head to staunch the tears, “so I can manage my bloody expectations!” She squeezed her eyes closed as if expecting a blow.  
  
_She’s bringing the fight! Good girl!_ “Look at me, Erica.” The blonde was definitely freaked out. And maybe actually in love with her. But then they’d been circling each other for years. Franky had been a goner from the moment she’d laid eyes on Erica more than five years ago. Erica had spent most of that time trying to talk herself out of feeling anything for Franky. She had to be disoriented. “How in the world can you think that, after all we’ve been through to get here?”  
  
Erica was trying very hard not to cry. Franky had looked so smug a few seconds ago. And the older woman’s world had been rocked by their lovemaking already. She felt like a complete idiot. And she was suddenly afraid she would never measure up to what the younger woman wanted and needed from her. She had no idea how Franky created those sensations in her body, nor how in hell she was supposed to reciprocate.  
  
She wrapped her arms tightly about herself. “I think I don’t have as much experience as I thought I did. I feel like a fool.”  
  
Franky took a deep breath. Let it out. Focused on Erica’s navel as she gently stroked her thighs. “Sex is… I always think of it like mastering an instrument.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean, there’s the whole practice thing. And this is our first time together. Cut us some slack.” Erica was staring down at Franky’s belly. Franky lifted her chin so she could see those blue eyes. “But let’s say I’m a piano. You can bang on it and it makes noise. That’s how a lot of people have sex. Just banging and making noise.”  
  
Erica looked confused. “Okay,” she agreed tentatively.  
  
“You can learn the notes, learn to play some tunes, songs with two fingers. Then there’s more complex but simple stuff that you can play with both hands.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Erica let go the death grip she had on herself and leaned forward slightly placing both hands flat on Franky’s stomach.  
  
“Sometimes another instrument joins — like your flute with my piano — and we make music together. A duet.” Erica nodded. “The harmony there can be quite lovely. And sometimes it’s so good it sounds like an entire orchestra is playing.” She moved her hands to Erica’s bum. “What we just did, Miss Davidson, was a sweet duet. A damn fine place to start toward the full orchestra.” She moved her hands up Erica’s sides, then interlaced her fingers behind the blonde’s back, urging her forward.  
  
“With the thousand other women I fucked and forgot, we mostly banged the keys. Some, after a lot of practice, we got to the two fingers. Sometimes the duet.” She leaned up and kissed her. “Rarely have I felt the potential for the big band or the orchestra,” she kissed her again, “But I do. With you.” She put both hands in Erica’s hair, pulling their mouths together tightly, gently exploring that deliciousness that even now made her wet and quivering.  
  
“Don’t tell anyone, Miss Davidson, that you got over on me our first time out,” she whispered, then kissed her again. _I’m madly in love with you. But I’m not going to say that because you’ve just divorced and I don’t want you running for the dunes._   “Or you’ll ruin my street cred.” She pulled Erica’s hand down between her legs, stroking through the wet folds with their interlaced fingers. Erica gasped. “And you’ve barely even touched me yet. You may have ruined me already.”  
  
Erica coughed out a sob. She had never been so frightened then so elated in the space of about 30 seconds in her life. “Franky,” she started.  
  
“Shut up and fuck me, Erica.”  
  
Erica was many things, but stupid was not one of them. She kissed her lover deeply. Then worked her way down Franky’s body kissing every square inch of flesh between her neck and her hips. Then she settled in between Franky’s lean, muscular thighs and did as she was told.


	7. Tansy in the Sky with Diamonds

When Erica awoke the next morning, squinting into the bright sunlight, she hoped to god she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t exactly in Franky’s arms. She was sprawled across Franky’s back, her groin tucked against the younger woman’s bum. She felt… incredible. Brunette locks tickled her nose. She pushed herself up gently, trying not to wake the younger woman quite yet — she wanted to see Franky asleep.  
  
She had just settled her chin on the brunette’s shoulder, enjoying seeing her so quiet, relaxed. _Her eyelashes are so thick._ She was leaning in to kiss below her lover’s ear when she heard the buzz; then someone singing. A man’s voice. Must be Franky’s mobile. Then she heard the lyrics. _Gidget is the one for me! Gidget is the one for me!_ Theme fucking music from _Gidget_ the fucking movie. Bobby Darren?  
  
“You have got to be kidding,” Erica growled. Franky stretched awake underneath her.  
  
‘Huh?” She said. “What happened?” She turned over to see a very cranky-faced blonde. _Cute. Her bedhead is awesome._ _Where have you been all my life?_ She scratched her fingernails lightly up Erica’s back, grinning into those baby blues, delighting in the feel of Erica’s skin against hers. The thigh resting lightly against her sex. Then she heard her mobile. _Why is Gidge calling me at this time of the morning? Something must be wrong…_ “Ahhh…” she started to move from under her lover.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” Erica snarled, her teeth clenched.  
  
Franky kissed her, wanting to linger. “I wouldn’t. If it was anyone else, love,” she scooted out of bed. “But there’s no reason for her to call except trouble.” She finally located her mobile and listened to the message.  
  
Erica watched the color drain from Franky’s face. She stared at Erica, tearing up.  
  
“Nonononono!”  
  
The blonde sat up with alarm, then moved toward Franky. “What is it, love?”  
  
The younger woman dropped the mobile, grabbed two fists full of hair and pulled. Took a deep breath then began collecting her clothes, putting them on. “There’s been an accident. Gidge is in hospital,” she shrugged into her shirt without her bra. “Where are my shoes? Will you come with me?”  
  
Erica sprung into action. Hell yeah she was going. “Of course, Franky. Your shoes are by the front door. But put your knickers on.” Franky took her shirt off and scrambled into her bra. “Give me two minutes to clean my teeth.”  
  
“Right. Yeah. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”  
  
Less than 30 minutes later they were in Bridget’s hospital room. Franky sat on the bed holding Gidge’s hand to her lips. Erica had a possessive hand on her shoulder and tried not radiate the resentment she felt at the disruption to her morning. She knew she was being selfish. Something horrible had clearly happened to Bridget Westfall. _But she doesn’t look too much worse for the wear, now does she?_  
  
“It’s just a concussion. Broken arm,” Bridget rasped out, and then coughed.  
  
“Stop talking, love,” Belle said from the other side of the bed, passing the psychiatrist a cup of water, forcing Franky to let go of her hand. “Let me tell them what you told the doctors.”  
  
Both Franky and Erica looked at her expectantly. Belle was a little blown over by the force of nature that was Franky Doyle. And the stunning blonde she was with — had she moved on from Bridget so quickly? Maybe this was for the best after all, Bridget having to give her up.  
  
“Someone placed a bomb in her car, set to explode when the motor started. Fortunately she’s got the auto-start function on her fob and happened to use it this time.” She patted Bridget’s leg affectionately. “She has some smoke inhalation damage to her throat, so she shouldn’t be talking,” she scolded.  
  
“Ferguson!” Franky spat. She stood up, shaking Erica’s hand off her shoulder. “That bitch has got to fucking die!”  
  
“What?” Erica was genuinely confused. “Isn’t she incarcerated? And why would she be trying to hurt Dr. Westfall?”  
  
Bridget tried to speak but Franky shushed her. “A lot of terrible shit happened at Wentworth after you left, Erica. I wish you could have stayed. I wish I hadn’t…”  
  
“Don’t, Franky,” Both Erica and Bridget said at the same time. They smiled at one another, Erica feeling a bit foolish for being such a harpy. Bridget cared about Franky as much as she did. She should be happy for that.  
  
“You can’t be responsible for everyone and everything. Especially as an inmate. Only Joan Ferguson is responsible for what happened. She was in charge.” Bridget coughed again and drank some more water.  
  
Franky pulled Erica close to her as she related the story of Vera getting sucked in, Gidge getting sacked, Fletch being run down; the strange man who got inside the prison and drugged Bea. The same man who had nearly killed Fletch and who was eventually tied back to Ferguson. Her attempt to sabotage Franky’s parole. Jodi Spiteri. Doreen’s baby Joshie being kidnapped by Jess. And the fire set by Ferguson to cover up a murder. One she had committed.  
  
At the end of it Erica was speechless. And a little light-headed. Among all of the horrible things she’d just heard, what rang in her head most loudly was that without Bridget’s dogged intervention, Franky might still be in prison. Under that sick, twisted woman’s ‘care’.  
  
“My god,” Belle said, curling her fingers around Bridget’s other hand, the one partially encased by the arm plaster. “You never told me all of that, Bridget. You could have come to me.”  
  
“What are the police doing about this?” Franky asked.  
  
“Bridget told them she thought Ferguson had a motive because of their hostile relationship at Wentworth,” Belle told them to stop Bridget trying to talk. “Since she’s incarcerated, it’s hard to see how she could have pulled this off. But they’re checking her visitor’s logs, tracking down anyone who’s ever been to see her.”  
  
“I might have some information,” Franky said, finally remembering her encounter outside Erica’s flat the day before. “She’s got a relative — well I think she is.” She took the two pieces of id from her pocket and examined them. “She’s a student at uni, and her name is Tansy Ferguson. I think she’s been following me around campus. I think she may be the one who took that photo that got us into trouble.”  
  
Erica peered at the little cards over Franky’s shoulder. “Where did you get those?”  
  
“That’s why I was late yesterday,” she handed the documents to Gidget. “I’m so sorry, Gidge. I meant to call you but…” the afternoon in Erica’s bed flashed in her brain. She smiled. “Fuck. I was on my way to Erica’s, aye, and when I got to her flat she had on this sexy little number…”  
  
Gidget looked past Franky to Erica with one eyebrow up. “I imagine all of your functioning brain cells went straight to your groin,” she said returning her gaze to Franky as she handed back the id’s. Erica turned an interesting shade of red.  
  
Franky took a deep breath. “It never occurred to me that you would be in this kind of danger. You could have been killed.”  
  
“You should definitely notify the police,” Belle said. “But there’s no way to know if having that information sooner would have any relation to this event at all. This Ferguson woman sounds positively unhinged.”  
  
“Diagnosed psychopath,” Bridget whispered. “Criminally insane.”  
  
“But what about your physical safety in the mean time?” Erica asked, fully involved now. She was going to have to let her petty selfishness go for now. “Why isn’t there a guard on this room?” She looked between Belle and Bridget.  
  
“Yeah,” Franky agreed, eyeing Gidge, who looked away.  
  
“She refused,” Belle said. “If I had known this woman was responsible for all the things you just told me, I wouldn’t have let her. I’ll call the constable right now.” She pulled a business card off the side table and began dialing.  
  
“Gidge. Come on,” Franky said, tugging her fingers. “Don’t be a blockhead.”  
  
Bridget laughed, then coughed again. Franky let go of Erica and held the cup for her. “They’re cutting me loose tomorrow.”  
  
“Do you need me to come stay with you? I’ve finished school and the internship and don’t start my new job for another two weeks. I’ve got some time on my hands,” Franky said, pressing Gidge’s fingers to her mouth. Kissing them.  
  
Franky couldn’t see the daggers Erica was staring over her shoulder. It was actually comical how obviously riled up the blonde was. “No, Franky. Belle will stay with me for a few days. And I don’t want Erica to break my other arm.” She smiled ruefully, wondering how Franky dealt with that kind of possessiveness.  
  
Franky’s eyes widened. _Oh fuck._ She didn’t forget Erica was in the room — she was just very focused on Gidge. And it was a genuine ask. She gently let go her ex’s hand and turned toward Erica, who was failing miserably at looking calm and collected. Franky chuckled and shook her head. _Chill, babe._ But now she was in a bit of a quandary. She wanted to kiss that stupid expression off Erica’s face. Yet she wasn’t comfortable doing it in front of her wounded, hospital-ridden ex. The blonde was just going to have to take care of herself for a few more minutes.  
  
She caressed Erica’s face briefly. “Knock it off,” she whispered and kissed her lightly on the lips. Franky turned back to Gidge. “I’d like to stay until the guard returns. But then I want to go make a report and see what I can find about about that little bitch Tansy Ferguson.”  
  
Belle hung up the phone. “The constable in charge is on her way. She can take your report here, Franky. And she’s bringing someone to stay.” She looked at Bridget. “They say you’ll have round the clock protection until we find out who did this — at least who her hands are on the outside. Meanwhile, all of her privileges have been suspended. She can’t take or receive phone calls or visitors.”  
  
“Good!” Franky said, sitting on the other side of the room, pulling Erica down into a chair next to her.  
  
“Tell Belle about your ‘interview’ with Michael deMedici, Franky,” Gidget said, winking at her.  
  
Erica’s eyes narrowed. _Franky told you about that? What else has Franky told you, Bridget Westfall. And how often do you talk? Fuck!_ She tried to breathe evenly. She was going to have to figure out how to manage herself if Bridget was going to be _that_ kind of mate for Franky.  
  
Franky started in on the story of what, in her mind, was the best fucking interview ever: her evening at deMedici’s penthouse with Michael and Dave and three bottles of Dom Perignon.  
  
******************************  
  
It was early Saturday afternoon. They had left Gidge’s hospital room several hours earlier, stopped for breakfast out, then gone to the market. Franky was finally going to cook for Erica but they needed groceries.  
  
Now Erica stood alone on her lanai watching the waves crash on the beach below. Maybe she should go for a walk. Franky was busy on her laptop chasing down information about Tansy  Ferguson. The blonde was trying very hard not to be small minded and resentful about the day after their first night of lovemaking being focused on Franky’s ex-girlfriend.  
  
She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be in that kind of danger, to have an attempt made on your life. Jacs had tried to kill Franky a number of times at Wentworth. A lot of people had probably tried to hurt her lover; some had succeeded. This thing with Bridget was hurting Franky now. Franky’s life might be in danger too. And by proxy, hers. Hell, life with Michael came with it’s own danger and intrigue — she had been the object of more than one kidnap attempt. Erica had been with her on one of those occasions. It was horrific. So she had some sense of what might be happening for Bridget; and for Franky.  
  
But at the moment, in her home with her predictable life at university, she felt severely annoyed. After nearly five years of fighting her feelings for Franky Doyle and then sorting out her life to where she could be with the younger woman in public, at home, and in bed, the recent graduate  was now, their first official day together, hunched over her laptop inside worried about Bridget. It just wasn’t fair.  
  
Erica decided she would go for a run on the beach, work out some of her frustration and disappointment. Then was delightfully surprised to feel Franky pressing against her back, holding her tightly, inhaling the scent of her.  
  
Erica shuddered. It was so new, Franky’s hands on her. She loved it. The younger woman pushed blonde tresses to the side and kissed her neck. Erica reached back threading her fingers through Franky’s hair.  
  
“Mmmmmmm. How you going, love? Did you find what you were looking for?”  
  
Franky turned her around and kissed her, meaning for it to be a playful peck. But she got caught. She hadn’t kissed Erica all day. _What am I thinking?_ She tasted like… biscuits? Franky dove in deeper, sucking at her lover’s tongue gently, sliding her hands down to that perfect arse, squeezing.  
  
Finally she pulled back, pleased that Erica looked a bit dazed. “You’ve had snacks and didn’t share?”  
  
Erica kissed her on the side of the mouth. “You were so involved. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Truth was she was bored and cranky and eating sweet treats helped. She continued to kiss across the younger woman’s face until she reached her ear. Gave it a little nibble. “You taking a break? I was just about to go for a run.”  
  
“I bet I can think of a better way to get your cardio going, if that’s what you’re after.” She felt Erica’s smile against her skin. “Hey, love. I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted today…”  
  
“No, no,” Erica pulled back a little so they could see each other’s eyes. “Of course you’re worried. I wish there was something I could do.”  
  
“Kind of a shit way to spend the first day after our first night together, aye?” She kissed her again. “We should have spent the entire day in bed.” This kiss was longer.  
  
Erica was getting warm. “Mmmm. That would have been nice.” Franky’s hands found their way underneath her blouse. She was still wearing what she’d thrown on to go to hospital — the black leggings from last night and a cotton button up with short sleeves. It was a little snug. Franky unbuttoned the top button. “But I’m sure Bridget didn’t blow up her own car to wreck our day.”  
  
Franky unbuttoned another one and caressed the skin on Erica’s back above the leggings. “Maybe Ferguson did it to wreck our day. She likes me about as much as she likes Gidge.”  
  
_Can we not talk about Bridget Westfall for just a few minutes, please?_  
  
“Speaking of whom..”  
  
Erica exhaled, exasperated, and stepped away from Franky’s embrace, moving swiftly across the kitchen toward the lounge and the master bedroom. “I get it that you’re concerned. I am too.” _But I don’t want to spend all day talking about your ex-girlfriend! And that is totally callous and selfish. Do not say that!_ “Maybe I should leave you to it and find something else to occupy my time today.”  
  
“Erica, wait!” Franky skipped after her.  
  
She stopped and turned, crossing her arms. “Finish the thought and then I’m going running.”  
  
Franky uncrossed Erica’s arms and draped them about her own waist while she rested her forearms on her lover’s shoulders. “You gotta understand about me and Gidge, Erica.”  
  
“Come on, Franky!” She tried to walk again but Franky held her.  
  
“Seriously. I care about her. A lot.” Erica turned again and Franky caught her tight against her front. “I love her.” Hard exhale from the blonde who continued to struggle to get free. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with her, but there will always be something between us. After you left Wentworth, I went down a dark path. She gave me a torch.” Erica stopped fighting her, suddenly. “She helped me figure out what was in my control and what wasn’t. And how to take responsibility for my own actions. To stop taking on other peoples’ shit. And to think about the long term, about really getting out of there. Life after Wentworth.”  
  
Erica turned in her arms now, relaxing a bit. Listening carefully.  
  
Franky continued. “She keeps me honest, aye.” Erica put her hands on Franky’s chest. “And I keep you honest. It’s a freaky little triangle but you’re going to have to deal. I need her in my life.”  
  
Erica’s brow scrunched. Franky watched her taking this in. Trying to make peace with it. Not really succeeding.  
  
“Kiss me,” she commanded, pressing her mouth to Erica’s. Taking her mouth hungrily, demanding, until Erica caught up with her, until they were both consumed with heat. She unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks, then pushed one of Erica’s hands down into the slick, hot folds of her sex.  
  
“No one else,” she said against Erica’s lips, “makes me wet from just a kiss.”  
  
The older woman’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my god.” _I thought it was just me._ She slid her fingers down further, pushing the brunette’s pants off with the other hand. They slid down to her ankles with the knickers and Franky stepped out of them while Erica continued to massage her clit.  
  
She widened her stance slightly for better balance, pressing her forehead to Erica’s. “You make me crazy.”  
  
“Good,” Erica said. “Because you drive me nuts too.” She slipped two fingers inside and Franky moaned.  
  
“That’s so good. Don’t stop!”  
  
_Are you kidding?_ Erica watched the increasing ecstasy flowing across Franky’s face as she continued to work her fingers in and out, rubbing her lover’s clit with her palm. Her breathing was labored now. Erica was sure she would never see anything as beautiful in her life as Franky in the throes of passion. “Come on, love,” she coaxed.  
  
Franky kissed her then, sucking her tongue hungrily as she hung on to Erica’s shoulders. Her knees were shaking. Then her thighs. And then the orgasm hit her hard and she cried out, her legs clamping together on Erica’s wrist. “FUCK!” She shuddered through it, holding onto her lover for dear life.  
  
And Erica held her, her heart aching with love for Franky Doyle. Whatever the fuck Franky needed from Bridget, the blonde was going to have to manage, she realized as they slid to the floor together, Franky a boneless heap in Erica’s arms. She held the brunette’s head to her breasts as Franky curled around her in post coital bliss. _I’m really done. I’m gone. If I have to go a single day without this, I will shrivel up and die._ She kissed her hair, her head, her forehead her nose, then pressed a sweet kiss to those perfect lips.  
  
Franky smiled up at her. “Maybe I could convince you to skip the run today?”  
  
************************************************  
  
The graduate lay on her bed in her own flat trying to figure out how to find the little cunt who had been following her. She’d spent the morning hunting down the location from the driver’s license. It was in the suburbs and when she knocked, no one answered. But the letterbox by the curb had “Fergusons” stenciled on it. Could this be Ferguson’s daughter? Everyone knew the Freak was partial to black velvet, not married. Didn’t mean she hadn’t spawned. And the house was registered to a Jason. Maybe a niece?  
  
She decided against going to campus to look. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, even if she could track down the girl’s schedule and wait for her outside a class. If she was smart, she would have hauled arse out of town by now. And anyway, if Franky did manage to find her on campus, she would probably make good on her threat to beat her bloody. They had nearly killed Gidge. _Motherfuckers_.  
  
She sighed and sat up. She was bored. She and Erica had spent the rest of the weekend in her flat. Mostly in bed. Which was un-fucking-believable. She was totally hyped about her new official couple status with ex-governor now full time lesbian Professor Davidson. And no one could fuck with them about it as Franky’s degree was securely in hand. But Monday morning, to Franky’s bewilderment, everything went back to business as usual. Erica had a couple of summer courses, but they weren’t starting for another week. Still, the professor insisted that she had meetings, research for an article she was writing. Blah blah blah. No week of fun in the sun.  
  
Franky decided maybe she should go for a run. Work off some of this energy. Then maybe go to the library and see about signing up for the bar exam.  
  
She changed into shorts and a sports bra with a tank, pulling her trainers out of the closet. As she got to the front door of the flat, the intercom buzzed. She was the only one home. Who the bloody hell could that be?  
  
“Oi!”  
  
“I’m looking for Franky Doyle.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“Tansy. Tansy Ferguson. Can I come up?”  
  
“Fuck no! Stay put. I’ll be down.”  
  
“Wait! I…”  
  
Franky was out the door even before she got her shoes on. She rode the lift tying her trainers, trying to figure out why the little cunt would be at her flat. Maybe she had a message from Ferguson. _Maybe I’ll break her fucking neck_.  
  
She approached the glass front door of the building. The girl was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet anxiously. Franky pushed the door open. Tansy tried to slip in.  
  
“Whoa!” She put her hand on the girl’s chest. “We can talk out there.”  
  
“Please. I can’t be seen with you.”  
  
“All right,” Franky looked both ways up and down the street, “come in then.” She followed the girl across the lobby to a low bench where she sat. Franky remained standing, her arms crossed. “So what the fuck?”  
  
“Look. I’m scared. I didn’t know that was going to happen to Dr. Westfall. I swear it.”  
  
“What do you mean you didn’t know?”  
  
“I know it was Aunt Joan that made it happen. But I didn’t do it. I swear. I could never do something like that.”  
  
“You do know why the Freak is in prison…”  
  
“She said they were lying. That she was set up. But now I’m not so sure. And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I can’t be a part of it. But she’ll kill me if I don’t do what she says.”  
  
“Okay. Back things up. She would kill you, but you didn’t think she would do it to other people? And she’s locked up for murdering one girl and nearly killing a prison guard. What the hell is the matter with you? What is it you don’t get here?”  
  
“I mean, figuratively, she will kill me if I don’t do what she says. She’s…”  
  
“Evil as fuck.”  
  
“Cruel. And she scares me. But she pays for uni and everything. I have to do what she says.”  
  
“Do you know anything about what happened to Dr. Westfall?”  
  
“I don’t know. Sometimes she would make me memorize a message, then call a certain number and leave the message on voicemail.”  
  
“It’s probably a bloody burner. Do you still have the number?”  
  
“Someone emails it to me the night before I go visit her.”  
  
_Jesus. Is she impaired?_ “Okaaay. Did. You. Save. The. Numbers. And the emails?” Franky was pressed not to mime sign language at her. The girl seemed awfully thick.  
  
“Yes. She told me to always delete them after I used the number, but I didn’t.”  
  
“You need to talk to the police.”  
  
“I’m afraid.”  
  
“So what? Just do it! They’ve been looking for you since Saturday! A woman was nearly killed!”  
  
“I know. I’ve been sleeping in the girls locker room.”  
  
“What was the last message you got from the Freak?”  
  
“ _Bada boom_.”  
  
*********************************  
  
Franky was bent over outside of the law school, catching her breath. After she’d called the police to come get Tansy, she’d dialed Gidge and told her about the encounter. Then she ran a quick pace the 2.5 kilometers to campus. She wanted to see Erica.  
  
When she was breathing almost normally, she took the stairs to the building two at a time, then took the interior stairs to the seventh floor, where Professor Davidson’s office was. The door was closed. She put her ear to it and heard two distinct voices. Erica was in a meeting. She knocked anyway.  
  
A few seconds later Erica opened the door, smiling brightly when she realized who was interrupting her. She pulled her inside and closed the door, locking it. Then kissed her.  
  
“Ahhh,” Franky cleared her throat. Her lips tingled. “Sorry to…” then she saw who the guest was.  
  
“Doyle,” Michael purred. She leaned against Erica’s desk, her navy Armani suit clearly tailored to fit her slim frame. “You’re disturbing.” She eyed Franky’s legs appreciatively.  
  
Franky smiled at her. _Man, she’s worse than I am._ “Your girlfriend let me in.”  
  
Michael chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want to start early? Maybe you have too much time on your hands if you’re sashaying around in the middle of the day in shorts and a sports bra. Distracting my girlfriend.”  
  
Erica kissed her again. “Are you right, love? What’s going on?” She went back to her desk and sat down. Michael took one of the chairs across from the desk and Franky sat in the other.  
  
“I won’t stay long. Looks like you’re in the middle of something. But I just had a conversation with Tansy Ferguson. She came to my flat!”  
  
Erica looked alarmed. “Excuse me?”  
  
“The police came and got her. But there’ve been some developments.” She looked at Michael. “But I can catch you up later.” She stood.  
  
“What is going on?” Michael asked, narrowing her eyes at Erica.  
  
“I was getting there. Someone tried to blow up Bridget Westfall in her car on Saturday morning.”  
  
“The fuck?” Michael stood up. “Where were you two?”  
  
“At my flat,” Erica said. “Why?”  
  
“I just…” the thought of anyone hurting Erica made her see red.  
  
“There was a psychotic governor at Wentworth after Erica left, Franky added. "Gidge helped to take her down.”  
  
“Joan Ferguson. I followed that. She’s a bloody nutjob.”  
  
“Her fucking niece is a uni student," the young attorney continued. "She’s been following me around for months. She’s the one that took the photo that got Gidge’s license under review. And she was outside Erica’s flat Friday afternoon.”  
  
Michael turned to Erica, put both hands on her desk, leveling a cool gaze at the blonde Professor. “David. Exactly when did you think it would be appropriate to share this with me?”  
  
Franky watched the dynamic between them. There was clearly waaaaay more than a teenage affair and a couple of random fucks between them. She’d noticed how handsy Michael had been with Erica during their dinner months back. Very affectionate. Physical. Unconsciously, though. _Hah! Erica hasn’t been fooling anyone but herself._  
  
“That’s why I asked you to meet this morning. I was a little _busy_ this weekend,” Erica retorted, her eyes widening as she glanced at Franky and tried not to blush. “And I didn’t think Ferguson was trying to hurt anyone else. Why would she be after me? Or even Franky, for that  matter? I never even met the woman.”  
  
“Because she’s bloody psycho, David.” Michael turned her laser glare onto Franky. “And what did you do to piss her off?”  
  
“She was torturing one of my girls. I convinced her to file a formal complaint.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“The Freak sabotaged the whole thing. The girl ended up completely losing her marbles. Gouging her own eye out with a pencil. Then Ferguson tried to stuff my parole by planting drugs in my cell. When that didn’t work, she changed the hearing date so Gidge would miss it, wouldn’t be there to testify for me. But that didn’t work either.”  
  
“Christ.” Michael was silent for a few seconds, thinking. “So listen. I don’t give a rats ass if this is awkward for you,” she focused on Erica. “But Franky stays with you until we find out what’s going on. Nobody drives. I’ll assign you a car and a driver. Did you drive to campus today, Dave?” Erica nodded. “Jesus.” She turned to Franky. “If you’re going to fuck her senseless, at least _you_ have to pay attention.”  
  
Franky blinked, a little taken aback. Was Michael giving her orders? Scolding her? “What…”  
  
“DeMedici has a good sized security division. I want to assign someone to watch after you. It’ll be easier and less obvious if you can stay together. And I’ll put a private investigator onto Ferguson and her little network of henchmen.”  
  
“Do you really think all that is necessary, Michael?” Erica sighed. “I have classes that start in two weeks and I need to prepare.”  
  
“Which you won’t be doing if either of you are dead. If she almost got Dr. Westfall, why in the world wouldn’t she get Franky? And what the fuck was that kid doing outside your flat, if not helping that nutjob figure out how to do something to you?” She turned to Franky. “This is the woman that strangled a girl with her bare hands. And had one of her own staff mowed down by car, and attempted to have him shot in his own home.”  
  
“You can’t just…” Franky started. “Wait. How did you know all of that?”  
  
“Yes. I can. Like it or not, Doyle, you’re on team deMedici now. And if there’s one thing that drives me completely batshit, it’s someone fucking with my people.” _Especially David._ She looked at Erica, then back to Franky. “As a matter of fact, maybe it would be better if you came to stay with me at the penthouse. There’s a safe room, round the clock security. No one gets in unless we let them in. Have you driven your car?”  
  
Franky nodded. “But the bomb squad checked it before I did.”  
  
“And you didn’t think to have David’s checked?”  
  
“Why would the Freak be after Erica?” Franky was worried and a little scared now. “She doesn’t even know her!” _Except for those fucking letters._ “Except…”  
  
“Except what, Doyle?”  
  
Franky folded her arms defensively. Looked at her fingernails. “After she left, I wrote a few letters. The Freak intercepted all of them but didn’t tell me until months later.”  
  
“Franky,” Erica said softly. “You never told me that.”  
  
Michael came to stand in front of Franky. Directly in her line of sight to Erica. Franky looked up at her. The taller woman leaned over bracing her hands against each chair arm, placing her face very close to Franky’s. Her pupils were glacial. “If you’re going to work for me. With me. And be with Dave, you have got to sharpen up, reckon?”  
  
Franky glared back at her. “How the fuck was I to know you had your own personal security division and a bloody fortress to stow her in?”  
  
Erica stood up. “Michael. Stand down. All of this is new to Franky. You have to give her time to learn how you work.”  
  
“I don’t need you to defend me, Erica!”  
  
“Not if either of you are in danger. Step it up, Doyle.” She straightened and stepped to the side so she could see both women. “Don’t either of you leave this office until I send someone to get you. Pack some things for the week. I’ll see you back at the penthouse for dinner and we’ll walk through all the moving pieces. Understood?”  
  
“If you really think it’s necessary.”  
  
“And I’m calling Tactical Response. We need to have your car swept, Dave.” She picked up her briefcase from the lounge and pulled out her mobile. Speed-dialed. “See you at dinner.” Then she was out in the corridor. “Can I speak to Inspector Vincent? It’s Michael deMedici.”  
  
Then she was gone.  
  
Franky stared sullenly at Erica, feeling chastised. Inappropriately scolded.  
  
“I’m sorry love,” Erica came round the desk to sit in Franky’s lap. But the younger woman stood.  
  
“I’m sweaty and stinky, love,” she said, brooding. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the uptight intellectual look you have going on there. Didn’t you say you have other meetings today?”  
  
Erica leaned against the front of her desk, eyeing her lover who was just in arms reach. “Hmmmm.” She sighed, taking one of Franky’s hands. “It will take a bit of getting used to. Michael plays… everything… at a completely different level. She can make things happen in a way that very few people can, and it’s been that way for her her entire life. She doesn’t know any different.”  
  
“Is she always like that?”  
  
“Intensely focused and sharp as a razor? Yes. Except at home.” She pulled Franky a little closer. “This rarely happens. But she’s almost always right in taking these types of precautions. At worst, we’re inconvenienced at the penthouse for a few days. At best, she prevents us from harm.”  
  
Franky looked at Erica, still trying to digest this new world she was entering. “Have you been in danger before? With her?”  
  
“There have been several attempted kidnappings. Once when we were on holiday from school together in Europe. They weren’t after me, though I was almost collateral. One of her bodyguards was. Killed.”  
  
“Bloody hell, Erica.”  
  
“Comes with the territory.” She cupped Franky’s face, drawing her closer. “Look at it this way: at Wentworth you were at the mercy of the governor, the screws. Out here, with deMedici, you have your own personal highly equipped, highly trained strike force. And Michael will always take the offensive position. She always has more money, more access, more firepower.”  
  
Franky had never seen the world from that perspective. “Interesting,” she said, her thoughts turning inward. Trying to imagine operating from the perspective in the tower, instead of scrapping it out in the yard.  
  
“And it looks like we’re in a slumber party for the next few days,” she finally kissed the sweaty young woman, unable to resist. “Do you mind?”  
  
“A little,” Franky said, distractedly kissing her back, opening up and letting the professor explore her mouth while keeping her at arms length.  
  
“You can have your own room. There are four empty suites, unless she’s got other guests or family in town,” she said against Franky’s lips, pulling her forward by the elastic band of her shorts. She took a quick peek down. “Nice.” The graduate was commando.  
  
“Erica! Stop!” Franky laughed, her sulky mood dissipating. She never thought she would be the one fending off the blonde’s advances. “You are going to muss up your professorly thing.”  
  
A knock at the door broke up their foreplay for the time being. It was deMedici security — one man and one woman. Since there were two body guards, it was decided that Franky would go ahead and pack up some of her things for the penthouse stay and Erica would remain on campus to finish several tasks and ready herself to be gone from her office for several days.  
  
As Franky approached the Town Car flanked by her personal security woman, she noticed a crowd gathering near the student services center. She broke rank and walked quickly over to the excitedly pointing students.  
  
“Jump!” a young man next to her yelled.  
  
She looked up. Several more calls for “jump!” rang out around her. It was Tansy on the edge of the roof. She was clearly high as a kite. _How the fuck did she get away from the cops?_  
  
“Shut up, you fucking arsehats!” She yelled at the crowd. She started toward the building intending to get to the roof and try to talk the young woman down. Why she felt responsible, she couldn’t exactly say. Except that she’d been between a rock and a hard place too many times to count. She knew exactly what the girl was feeling, under the thumb of the Freak, sought by police. And why she might want to end her life. She also knew things could change for the better. Dramatically.  
  
She was stopped in her tracks by deMedici security, who gripped her upper arm firmly.  
  
“I have to advise against interfering. We need to get you someplace safe until we understand the situation better. Anyone could be out here. Anything could happen. Please, Miss Doyle,” the woman said, reasonably.  
  
“Fuck off! I know that girl!” She tried to pull herself away from the woman’s grip. “She needs help … I can help her,” she continued to struggle.  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t allow…”  
  
Franky watched with horror as the girl on the roof spread her arms wide and toppled off the five story building. She closed her eyes, but was still close enough to hear the sickening crunch of the body hit the concrete below. _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._ All hell broke loose and the security woman pulled Franky away from the melee toward the Town Car. Franky let her.


	8. Freaking Out

Joan Ferguson loved the sound of breaking bones. So it was with almost carnal pleasure that when the night nurse came through on rounds, she moved with lightening speed up behind him as he reached for her door to exit, and took his head between her hands. She twisted, hard, snapping the vertebrae. He died instantly. She heaved him up onto her bed, efficiently stripped him of clothing, put it on herself, and positioned him comfortably on the mattress to look like the inmate Ferguson.

It hadn’t taken long to plan this, but the execution was tedious. Waiting for the staff to be lulled to a place of benign complacency around the ex-governor was bor-ring. But by behaving perfectly, doing everything she was asked when she was asked it; even going above and beyond, volunteering to help, she slowly but surely convinced most of them that she was harmless. While playing the totally rational, wrongly accused inmate and neatly making her bed in the morning, she slowly saw staff begin to relax around Joan Ferguson, some even treating her as the intelligent colleague she should be as opposed to the demented inmate some wanted to believe. She talked to and even helped soothe some of the other patients. Tucked herself in at night. Perfectly docile and agreeable.

And then an extremely fortuitous turn of events occurred when the new nurse was hired. He had the same height and similar build as Joan. And dark hair. And by a gift of the gods he was assigned to her night rotation.

Now she was walking calmly toward the stairwell, entering it. No one noticed. She exited the building walking calmly across the grounds, sticking to the shadowiest areas; avoiding the obnoxious floodlights. It wasn’t that hard, really. With luck, no one would discover her missing until the next morning.

She pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket she had placed there earlier. She knew everything on it by heart, but it pleased her to look at it. She folded it precisely and slipped it back to its resting place and continued walking north toward Fitzroy.

********************************************

“Pull over!”

“Pardon?” The driver replied.

“I’m going to chuck all over the back of this car if you don’t pull over!” Franky was short of breath, hot, and extremely nauseous. She couldn’t get the sound of flesh splatting on concrete out of her head.

The security woman swung the luxury car across two lanes of traffic and skidded to a halt at the curb. Franky leaned out the door, explosively losing all of her breakfast. After a couple more heaves, the roiling stopped and she pulled herself back upright on the seat, closing the door.

The driver tossed a bottle of water back to her. “Do you need a doctor, Miss?”

“Franky. Call me Franky,” she panted, then swished some water in her mouth. She spit the acidic after-vomit out the window. “Fuck no. Just take me home.” She rolled up the window and chugged the rest of the bottle of water. "And you are?"

"Martin. Chris Martin. You can call me Martin."

"Thanks, Martin," Franky replied. She tried to imagine what the next few days would be like. She figured staying at the deMedici penthouse wouldn’t be much of a hardship but she couldn’t help but feel prickly. It felt like she had no control. Michael was dictating everything. It nudged at her PTSD from lock-up. She called Gidge.

“Franky.”

“Gidge. That girl just jumped from the roof of the student services building. And Michael is making us stay at her penthouse. And I’m puking my guts out,” she gulped. She was talking too fast, her sentences running together. “Can I get more water?” she called to the driver. “I really want to see you.” She said to Gidge, putting her head down between her legs, trying to breathe. Her chest was tight.

Gidget inhaled sharply. “Oh my god. Slow down, Franky. First, where are you?”

“In deMedici’s town car. I have my own personal security chick,” she smiled bitterly, making eye contact with Martin in the rearview mirror. The woman blinked at her. “When she found out about you almost getting blown up she put Erica and me on lock down.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Now what about the girl and the building?” Bridget was still at home resting, only three days out from the blast and the resulting broken arm and concussion.

Franky tried to even out her breathing. She was worried that witnessing the suicide had shaken her so much. After everything she’d seen and done, between living on the streets as a teen and fighting for Top Dog in prison, one little jumper shouldn’t phase her. But it did. “Tansy Ferguson just jumped from the roof of the student services building on campus. I saw it, Gidge. I heard it and I can’t get that sound…”

“Franky. You need to slow down and breathe. You should absolutely be upset and sickened. That’s a normal reaction to what you’ve seen, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“It just means you’re feeling something about seeing a girl die. That’s a good thing,” she said. _Just keep breathing and talking to me._ “Where are you going now?”

“Home to pack a few things, then over to deMedici’s penthouse. Can I come see you first? I figure once I’m on lockdown, I’m staying on lockdown.” Franky was starting to feel better already just hearing Gidge’s voice. “And I don’t know how long that will be. Have you heard anything else from the police?”

Bridget sighed heavily. _Again. Another reason, Gidge. You could have been a contender._ “No. I haven’t heard anything from the police yet. I still have a uniformed officer in front of my house.” Her heart broke a little hearing Franky’s distress. “And we’re still a few months out from the end of my probation, Franky. I’m sorry.”

“That really sucks hairy balls, Gidge.”

“I agree. But it’s my own fault, love,” she chuckled at the colorful language. “Though your terminology sounds much more apropos than ‘still on probation.’”

The sound of Gidget laughing made Franky smile, loosening the tension in her chest and belly. “I feel better. Just talking to you helps.”

“I’m glad for that, Franky. Will you call me when you’re all battened down in the bunker? I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.” _Although I wish it hadn’t turned out so conveniently for you and Erica to be all cozy together so soon. Jesus._ She tried not to think about how possessively Erica looked at Franky while they visited her in hospital. How smitten Franky already seemed.

“Aye. Ta, Gidge.”

“Ta.”

****************************************

Franky sat on the queen sized bed in a suite in Michael’s penthouse that was easily half the size of her entire flat. It had a fully appointed ensuite with a wet room; plasma screen television mounted to the wall opposite the bed; a walk-in closet that was as big as her own bedroom. And she had a view of the Melbourne skyline. It was crazy luxurious.

She wandered around the gigantic mansion home for most of the afternoon. It was three stories. On the ground floor was the lounge area and bar, a formal dining room, the kitchen, a library and a fully equipped gym. The terrace had a lap pool. The second floor had four identical suites easily 5 - 600 square meters each; a home theater with stadium seating for about 20; and a locked door. The top floor she couldn’t get into with the lift fob Maya — head housekeeper and cook — had given her to get in and out of the penthouse. She guessed that Michael’s personal quarters must be up there. It was a lot to take in. She was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that someone she now knew actually lived in this place.

She was still anxious and felt weird being alone with the ‘servants’ in this space. After spending nearly an hour in the lap pool she went back to her suite and unpacked, showered, then tried to settle in. She was hungry after the work-out and since she’d upchucked her breakfast, she really hadn’t actually eaten all day. It was after two. She made her way to the kitchen. Maya was nowhere to be seen. She opened the refrigerator and identified some deli meats, pre-sliced cheese, greens. She made herself a healthy sandwich on whole grain bread, grabbed a diet coke, and headed back to her suite. Making herself comfortable on a chaise lounge, she pulled her iPad out of her satchel and began looking for Maori tattoos. She had in her mind she wanted to get something on her hip, something about Erica. Not now, but down the road. Once she was sure they were going to make it as a couple.

When she had created a tidy little folder of bookmarks of designs she liked, she lay back setting her plate on the floor and iPad to the side, closing her eyes hoping for a nap. Then flinched, opening them quickly again. She couldn’t unsee or unhear Tansy Ferguson’s body splatting on the concrete, a reel which kept playing in her head. Over and over. _No sleep tonight. Fuck._ She stood and walked over to the floor to ceiling windows and perused the skyline, trying to think of puppies and jelly. Smiling at the thought of Boomer. She could write Boomer a letter! Yeah! _Oh, and flat hunting. Lease is up at the end of this month…_ She turned to find Erica standing in the doorway, watching her.

“Hello, love,” Erica said, smiling shyly as she dropped her bags in the doorway, making her way to her girlfriend.

Franky smiled back, pulling the blonde into her arms. Holding her tightly. She needed this right now. She buried her nose in Erica’s hair. “God you smell good,” she said, her voice a little scratchy. “How was your afternoon?”

Erica pulled back enough to kiss her, lingering. Loving the feel of Franky’s tongue pushing against hers, exploring her mouth. Her toes curled. She tangled her fingers in silky brunette locks, pulling their mouths together harder, diving deeper as she walked them back toward the bed and fell on it, Franky on top of her, continuing to kiss her. She then rolled them over, reluctantly ending the kiss sitting astride the graduate’s hips. This was quickly becoming one of her favorite perches, looking down at her sexy partner on the bed.

“Mmmm,” she said, licking her lips. “Busy. And I still have a few things I need to get done before dinner so I can’t stay and play.” Franky frowned, but not too much. “How has your afternoon been. Did you look around?”

“Yes. This place is incredible. I swam for about an hour.”

“Michael was a world class swimmer. She could have made the Olympic team if she’d wanted to, but all she’s ever really been interested in is law.” She held both Franky’s hands bringing them to her mouth, kissing each finger.

“Why am I not surprised that the ridiculously gorgeous super-model bazillionairess barrister just happens to also be a world class athlete?” She untangled their fingers and instead, squeezed Erica’s bum. She loved Erica’s bum. She urged her forward slightly, wondering if she couldn’t distract her for a few more minutes. She pulled Erica’s blouse from her slacks and sat up, pushing her hands up under it, against naked skin, reaching for the bra. “I bet she’s a world class fuck, too,” she murmured against the blonde’s lips, kissing her again.

 _Don’t you dare think about sex with Michael!_ Erica arched away from Franky’s busy hands, reaching behind her to try to stop the movements. Which only succeeded in pressing her breasts more firmly against the younger woman’s chest as she pulled away from the kiss.

“Franky! I can’t do this right now,” she pleaded. Thankfully, Franky stopped trying to unhook her bra. She tried for a subject change. “Did you hear what happened on campus earlier today? It was horrible!”

A shadow crossed Franky’s face and she moved her hands back down to Erica’s hips. “Yeah,” she said, looking down, her thoughts turning inward as the scene replayed itself in her head. Again.

“Hey,” Erica said, putting two fingers under her girl’s chin, making eye contact. “What’s the matter?”

She squeezed her eyes closed, gritting her teeth. “It happened as I was leaving your office. I saw the whole thing.” She heard Erica’s sharp intake of breath. “And I can’t get it out of my head. That sound…” She shuddered.

“Oh Jesus, Franky,” Erica said softly, putting her arms around her girlfriend, seeking to comfort her. “I am so sorry you had to witness that.”

“I lost my breakfast in the car,” she said against Erica’s shoulder. It felt so good to hold her. Be held. “It’s been awhile since that happened.”

 _Fuck ‘a few things I still need to do today’. Sweet baby Jesus how much does this girl have to go through?_ She moved to lift herself from Franky’s lap.

Franky tightened her hold. “Don’t go yet.”

“I’m not. I want to lay down with you, okay? Let’s lie down together for a few minutes.” She lay back with her head on the pillows gathering Franky into her arms, pleased when she tucked her head under Erica’s chin. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I called Gidge after I puked.”

Erica thought she did a very good job of not reacting to that, barely missing a stroke as she ran her fingers through Franky’s hair, massaging her scalp. “What did she say?” _This is good Bridget. Professional psychiatrist Bridget doing what she does well. No need to scratch her eyes out about this. Especially if it helped._

“That it’s normal to be upset after witnessing something like that. For the body to react, not just the mind. Not like I didn’t know that. And I’ve seen worse. I’m not sure why this got to me.”

Erica wanted to know what worse Franky had seen. Maybe.

Franky looked up at the blonde. “You should have seen the blood and gore when Bea and I duked it out for Top Dog,” she grinned impishly. “Red turned into a proper psycho after you left; after little Debbie…” She stopped grinning. _That was fucking horrible, actually_. “Anyway. It helped, talking to Gidget.” She returned her head to Erica’s shoulder. She slipped her hand under the blouse splaying her hand across Erica’s belly. She had quickly become attached to the casual intimacy between them after only three days. “I had a sandwich after I swam.” She looked up at Erica again. “Maya said I could cook anything I want any time I want. That kitchen is fucking fantastic!” Her mood shifted as she thought about she and Erica having a quiet, candle-lit dinner there in the fabulous penthouse. A dinner she had prepared.

Erica was pleased to sense the change in her mood. Franky’s excitement about the well-appointed kitchen was palpable. “Perhaps we’ll be here long enough to have several dinners together. We can treat it like a pretend mini holiday. That this is an exotic hotel in the wilds of downtown Sidney. Did you see the hot-tub in the gym?”

“Oh yeah,” Franky kissed her. “Is Michael home a lot? Cuz I’m thinking that hot tub needs us in it. Naked.” She kissed her again, lingering. Deepening it, pressing her thigh suggestively against Erica’s center.

 _I should do some work. But this is definitely distracting Franky from…_ “Ohhh,” she moaned, as fire exploded in her sex. She was losing the ability to think coherently, she realized as Franky’s hand closed around her breast. Somehow her blouse had come unbuttoned. “Oh god,” she ground against Franky’s thigh, her nipple hard between Franky’s fingers. “Wait,” she pushed on the younger woman, sliding from beneath her. “Hold that thought.” She skipped out of the room.

“Don’t make me start without you,” Franky called after her, turning the bed down and stripping off her clothes.

A few minutes later Erica returned in just her bra and panties, her hands behind her back as she came into the room and kicked the door shut behind her. She grinned at Franky mischievously as she approached the bed slowly.

“Whatcha got back there?”

The blonde kneeled on the bed, scooting on her knees until she was even with the brunette. Franky reached behind Erica pulling her hands forward. Around Erica’s wrists were a pair of fur-lined cuffs just waiting to be attached to one another. After threading the link around a post in the headboard. Obviously.

“Hah!” Franky’s mouth hung open for a few moments. This was probably the only time in her life she’d actually thought in detail about what her current lover may have done with past lovers. And she was very fucking glad Erica had fucked Michael deMedici in this house. Often enough that they had toys handy. “You are…” And now she was speechless. “Where’s the fucking stash, aye?”

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll show it to you,” Erica said.

 _Nice my arse._ “You don’t really want me to be nice, though. Do you?” Franky kissed her. Hard. Then removed Erica’s bra and pushed her face down on the bed. She roughly yanked Erica’s arms up, tethering her to the headboard, then jerked her panties off. She kissed each buttock once, then smacked her there.

Erica’s breath drew in and she poked her bum up slightly in anticipation of another blow. Franky did not disappoint, laying a matching red handprint across the other butt cheek.

This time the gasp was audible as she spread her legs. “Shit, Franky!”

The brunette dipped two fingers into the moisture between Erica’s legs, slid all the way in and out, stroking her several times before spanking her again. She was so wet already. She slapped that delectable arse a third time.

This round Erica whimpered and pushed up onto all fours. “Fuck me. Please, Franky. I need you inside.”

The younger woman grabbed a fist full of Erica’s hair and pulled, while entering her roughly; fucking her forcefully. Within minutes she was keening, grinding wildly against Franky’s hand.

“Relax,” Franky whispered into her ear. “Let me bring it,” she kissed her neck slowing the pace, giving Erica a minute to ease up and let her lead. “I’ll take good care of you if you’ll let me.”

Erica knew full well how Franky could take care of her, having experienced it a mind shattering number of times over the weekend. But it was new, fully surrendering her pleasure to her partner. It was going to take some time to break herself of the habit of taking what she wanted. That was the only way she’d ever found pleasure in bed with men, when she’d found it at all. And often with Michael.

The blonde slowed her breathing, spreading her legs a little wider. “Okay,” she husked. She relaxed her hips, her belly. “Okay.” And once again, as Franky’s fingers worked their magic, as she rode the fingers deep inside her rather than bucked them, that swell of pleasure swept over her. “Fuck,” she whispered. _That is unbelievable._ Then another wave. _I think I’m actually having multiple orgasms._ Then another. The pace quickened and another wave hit her. Then Franky yanked her hair and pounded her center. Every single nerve in Erica’s body, starting in her pussy and radiating out, burst into fireworks and she felt it this time, her entire body vibrating convulsively, the spray of liquid that coated Franky’s hand, then squirted out into the bedding when Franky pulled her fingers out of her quivering sex.

Franky quickly released her from the headboard, pulling the trembling woman into her arms. “You are fucking incredible, Erica,” she kissed her hair.

The blonde pushed herself on top of the younger woman, still shaking. “You,” she kissed her, “blow every single fuse in my body,” she kissed her again. “Some I didn’t even know I had.” She kissed her way down Franky’s chest, stopping to tease a nipple with her tongue, getting her breathing under control. Waiting for her aftershocks to wind down.

Franky squeezed her bum in anticipation. Seeing blond locks settling between her legs was almost enough for Franky to come without even being touched. Even the thought of Erica going down on her made her wet. Actually seeing it. _Fuck!_ And she was very, very good at it. The brunette smirked. _Fooling no one but yourself. Hah!_

_***********************************_

Franky woke to the bedside light clicking on. It was dark outside — they must have been asleep nearly two hours. DeMedici sat on the bed near their heads. Franky was lying completely on top of Erica’s back. They had kicked all of the bedding down so their entire naked bodies were on display for the violet-eyed goddess.

Michael grinned, admiring Franky’s bum. Franky snaked her arm under Erica’s body so she could palm her breast possessively as she eyed deMedici suspiciously.

“No ogling. Eyes up here, Michael,” Erica groused from underneath her lover. “What do you want and why are you in here?” She yawned, going up on one elbow enough to cover Franky’s hand on her breast with her own hand.  “And pass the doona up, why don’t you? Jeez!”

Michael took her time covering them up, staring at Franky’s naked, lean, sculpted musculature. “I _live_ here. And we have a dinner date, remember?” She smiled down at Erica. “Your girlfriend is ripped, David. Lucky girl.” She winked at Franky. “Come on down, will you? Cher will be here in about an hour and I need to pack. I’m going to Sydney in the morning.”

“Okay. Few minutes to get dressed. Give us,” Erica yawned again.

“Fine.” The tall brunette didn’t move.

“Fuck you, deMedici! Get out!” Erica smacked her with a pillow as she sat up, keeping herself covered with the bedding. “Go!”

Michael laughed and stood up, tossing a button down shirt, pants and knickers at Erica. “Since your outfit is strung across my room, I’m guessing you need something else to wear.”

Franky noticed it was a white Versace shirt and white Versace slacks. Red Moschino knickers. _Nice. Probably cost about six months rent for me._ She also made note that while her fob didn’t get her access to the upper floor, Erica’s clearly did. Erica had spent. A. Lot. Of. Time. In this penthouse.

“Who is Cher?” she asked as they started to dress.

*********************************************

Last time they’d had dinner at the penthouse there was no sign of staff. Just food prepared in the kitchen, to which they’d helped themselves. It was damn good food — high end restaurant quality, Franky assessed. And they’d eaten in the kitchen. Tonight they’d sat at the long wood dining table that was fully dressed and set formally. Maya had served the food — filet mignon _which was like butter, honestly,_ roasted brussels sprouts with a raspberry balsamic reduction sauce, and mushroom risotto that nearly made Franky swoon. For dessert, a pear tart that the young barrister definitely wanted to try making on her own.

Cher, it turned out, was a very hostile hacker/researcher on deMedici’s private payroll. She reminded Franky of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. She was small and lean, mean; pointy nose, suspicious and dark, brooding eyes, but pretty in a feral kind of way. Short, jet-black wavy hair, brown skin. She delivered several multi-page bound documents to Michael wordlessly, sneered at Franky, nodded grimly at Erica, growling an “Oi” at her.

Michael flipped through one quickly then kissed Cher on the mouth. “You’re the best, love,” she said before shoeing the young woman away. “See you tomorrow in Sydney, yeah?” The girl nodded and left.

After dinner was served Michael passed around the documents: full dossiers on Ferguson. Neatly bound reports detailing her financial holdings, a brief biography of her life; her criminal charges; suspected criminal activity for which she hadn’t been charged; and highlights from her psych sessions in Ebling Hospital for the criminally insane. A heck of a lot of sensitive information that was definitely not legal for them to have access to. There was also mention of Tansy Ferguson, who had not actually died in her suicide attempt; but was in hospital in a medically induced coma. She had severe head and spinal injuries and wouldn’t likely walk again.

They all spent several minutes reviewing the document, until finally, Michael whistled.

“She’s a proper mess. And she’s got money,” Michael noted. “I may have Cher tangle up her cash flow for awhile. That will at least keep everyone else out of harms way in the short term.”

Franky shook her head. “But Tansy depends on her financially.” The information in the document was disturbing in the extreme. But not a reason to hurt the young woman who was clearly scared and confused, according to Franky’s last encounter with her. _And also a potential victim of the Freak. Tansy might be an important ally when she wakes up. If she wakes up._ “When she comes to, she might be persuaded to give us some valuable information. She was scared to death last time I saw her. And _she_ came to _me.”_

Michael considered this. Ferguson had plenty of money, was obviously a fucking nutjob, and definitely had it in for Bridget. She had easily found another henchman after the first one was killed by Fletcher, and he was likely the one who had put the bomb in Bridget’s car. All one could tell from the dossier was that the new guy was ex-military named “John Smith” and all of the transactions between him and Ferguson were in cash. About $10,000 in cash in small chunks had moved between Ferguson and Smith before the bomb, and another $15,000 afterward. But Franky was right. If Tansy were willing to talk, the information she provided could be crucial to bringing Ferguson down.

“She’s in a fucking coma, Doyle. She’s not going to be needing any fun money for awhile. And it’s not like the state will cut off her medical care while she’s bedridden.” Michael arched an eyebrow, not willing to concede the point to the junior barrister just yet.

Erica finally chimed in. “Are you seeing these transcripts from her therapy sessions?”

“Where?” Michael asked.

“Starting on page 47.” The sounds of papers shuffling filled the room, then quiet. “She claims that Bridget set her up. That everything that happened was down to Dr. Westfall’s manipulation of staff to cover up her ‘depraved,” she cleared her throat, ‘illicit and illegal perverted sexual dalliance with inmate Francesca Doyle.’ That was a direct quote.”

Michael’s eyebrow shot up. “Fucking A, Doyle,” she whistled. “You seduced Governor Dave and Doctor Dyke from inside a jail cell? Impressive.”  _Yep. Definitely want Doyle on my team._

“I got skills, deMedici,” Franky answered saucily, still frowning at the paper. _I should go visit her. The kid._

Erica watched Michael leering at Franky and fought the urge to climb into her lover’s lap. “Well it’s more than a little troublesome. She clearly has a vendetta against Dr. Westfall. Franky could easily get caught in the crossfire, or become a target herself.”

Franky looked up at her. “She’s got 24 hour security. A car in front of her flat and a constable in the car.”

“Which is why," Michael rolled her eyes exaggeratedly at Erica, "I have you two here. Maybe we should invite Dr. Westfall over here for the week too?” Michael questioned.

“Oh hell no,” Erica started. “There is no way…”

“Can’t happen,” Franky interrupted, smirking at the blonde, beckoning her over, pulling her into her lap.“We can’t be in the same place for another few months. She’s on probation, and being with me here would violate terms.”

Erica reached back, tangling her fingers in Franky’s hair, scratching her scalp affectionately.

Michael chuckled, standing up. “Again. Impressive, Doyle.” She fought the urge to join her best friend in playing with Franky’s hair. Wondering if Erica would ever unwind enough in this relationship to share a little. But Dave was whipped. And Michael had never, ever seen her be jealous before. _Not likely to be an awesome threesome any time soon, dammit._ “And I need to pack, prep for my meeting tomorrow, and sleep. See you both in a couple of days.” She blew a kiss at the couple. “And Dave?”

“Yes love,” Erica said, tilting her head so Franky could have unobstructed access to the most sensitive parts of her neck.

The taller woman looked back over her shoulder, grinning wickedly as she reached the stairs. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Franky was completely entranced by Erica’s scent, the feel of her silken skin under rough fingertips, the pressure of her bum on Franky’s thigh. Once Erica pressed her full body against the former inmate’s, she had completely forgotten Tansy, Ferguson, the ostensible danger she and Erica were in and her own disorientation at being in such a posh environment. But hearing Michael deMedici, of all people, tell Erica to stay out of trouble made Franky laugh. Out loud. Hard.

******************************************

Bridget Westfall sat in bed reading a psychology journal, trying to ignore the ache in her arm and the headache. She was only four days out from the attempt on her life and had finally convinced Belle to go home and stop hovering. And even though she didn’t want company, exactly, she was lonely. Lonely for Franky Doyle.

Franky looked remarkably healthy and... well... solid last time Bridget saw her, when she’d come to hospital with Erica Pearson in tow. _Davidson now. Motherfucker._ The psychologist wasn’t jealous exactly; she’d made her bed and was resolved to lie in it. And she really believed that Erica was a good partner for Franky — closer to her age, definitely able to support her career. Hell, Franky was already hired at deMedici and going to be supervised by the prodigal barrister herself. That was exactly where Franky needed to be fresh out of law school. Bridget just wondered, wistfully, if there was anyplace at all for her in Franky’s life anymore. Despite their romance having run off the rails, Bridget still genuinely cared for Franky, enjoyed her companionship, and wanted desperately to continue to support the young woman to stay on the right path and be a successful attorney.

She jabbed a letter opener under her cast, trying to get at an itch along the underside of her forearm. It was maddening, the stupid cast and it’s stupid itchiness. She eyed the bottle of painkillers, which she had been quite miserly with ingesting — she really didn’t like the fuzziness of opiate sedation. But she hadn’t really slept a full night since coming home and her arm and head still hurt. She picked up the bottle. _Maybe just tonight._

And heard the tinkling of broken glass. It sounded like the noise came from down in the kitchen. A chill raced along her spine, small, fine hairs standing stiffly on the back of her neck and along her arms. Then a door opened downstairs, immediately triggering her house alarm, which beeped menacingly — and would continue to do so for 30 seconds — giving her a chance to disarm if she was returning home.

Without thinking, Bridget grabbed her mobile from the night stand and sprinted to the sliding glass door in her bedroom, flinging it open and running out to the deck and down the stairs in only her night shirt and panties. As she flew by the back door to the kitchen, she saw Joan Ferguson standing in her house. Staring out at her. With a baseball bat slung casually over her shoulder.

“Dr. Westfall!” Ferguson roared, starting after her.

Bridget stumbled along the gravel path next to her townhouse, the stones biting into the soft flesh of her bare feet as she barreled toward the front of the house, the sidewalk there, and the constable. As she rounded a hedge she ran square into a smallish woman with dark skin. The woman grabbed her arm, pulling her toward a car that sat idling in the street next to the police car. Bridget struggled against her.

“My name is Cher! Franky’s mate Michael sent me. deMedici. Come with me if you want to live,” she stage whispered, pulling Bridget into the street and shoving her into the idling vehicle.

As they ran past the cop car, Bridget caught a glimpse of the officer lying half out of the door, his head bashed in, eyes staring soullessly into the night.


	9. Out Fergie'd

**** Joan Ferguson came round to the front of Bridget Westfall’s townhouse just as the psychologist was shoved into the back seat of a black Jetta, which sped down the road leaving the faint odor of burning rubber in it’s wake. She calmly retraced her steps to the psychologist's back door, entered the kitchen, and proceeded to methodically smash with her bat every window on the ground floor. She bashed a couple of mirrors for good measure, then exited the door she’d entered, crossing Bridget’s garden, then the garden behind that, emerging to the sidewalk and quickly distancing herself from the sirens she heard in the distance approaching the normally quiet Fitzroy neighborhood street.

******************************************

“You’re safe,” Michael stated with relief. Cher had called her from the landline inside her penthouse; the dedicated line inside the safe room.

“Yes.”

Michael took a deep breath, a bit surprised at how concerned she had been for this Dr. Westfall. She didn’t even know the woman who was only peripherally connected to Dave through Franky Doyle. But that the Ferguson freak had succeeded in nearly killing the doctor twice in only a few days was a bit unnerving. Honestly, it was more than a miracle the woman was alive.

And now that the psychologist was under Michael’s roof she knew she could keep them all safe. The tricky part was tracking down the psychotic ex-governor and eliminating any further threats from her. Threats to Bridget Westfall, or anyone associated with her. _Dave_. “OK. You’re a gem, Cher. How’s she holding up?”

“It was too close. Ferguson was inside the Doc’s house when I arrived. The cop was dead outside. She needs clean clothes and food. And she shouldn’t be left on her own.” Cher didn’t know why she would care about this fragile head-tweaker. But something about her pale legs sticking out from beneath the short nightshirt; the disheveled ponytail; the preternatural calm the woman displayed sitting on the twin bed… She was absolutely still. It got under Cher’s skin. “She shouldn’t stay in this box, Michael,” she said quietly, hoping the doctor wasn’t hearing herself being talked about. Handled like a child. It felt oddly rude. And Cher wasn't one to give a flying fuck about manners or decorum. But Bridget Westfall made her want to.

“Yeah. I get it. But slow down a minute, Dragon Girl.” Michael wondered what was going on with her usually cold and efficient hacker that she was concerned about the emotional state of her charge. “I need to call Vincent and you need to stay put with her. Scratch the Sydney trip — I’ll manage on my own. But definitely freeze Ferguson’s cash flow. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And don’t move from the lock box until I ring you back.” She exited her town car on the tarmac and boarded her private jet. As the airplane took off, she dialed Kerry Vincent, head of Melbourne Tactical Response Team.

By the time she landed in Sydney she was wrapping up her Skype conversation with Erica and Franky. “…so just make sure she stays indoors. No frolicking on the terrace where she might be seen. I’m working with TRT to locate Ferguson, and as soon as that is known, we’ll release Dr. Westfall to police custody. Then, hopefully, she can go home.”

“So she’s been upstairs. By herself. For the past hour and a half,” Franky said, icily.

“No, Doyle. Cher is with her. I needed to square things away with the TRT and loop you two into the situation. Soon as I hang up here, I’ll call them and David can take you up. I’m sure you will know what she needs.”

Franky pulled Erica away from the laptop screen angrily. “Come on!”

“Don’t be an ingrate,” Michael called after them as they disappeared from view. “None of this would be possible without Cher. Remember that!”

Cher ‘Dragon Girl’ Mingelow had just happened to be monitoring the intranet and security cameras inside Ebling Hospital when she noticed the strange movements of a night nurse, who stealthily entered a stairwell and exited the building seemingly mid-shift. Then the internal alarms sounded that a nurse had been compromised (read severely injured, possible dead) and an inmate escaped. While the ninnies inside the hospital were busy doing damage control before calling police, Cher had erred on the side of caution, called Michael, then gone immediately to Bridget Westfall’s residence armed to the teeth. At worst, nothing was happening. At best, she might save someone’s life.

As it turned out, Cher had made the right call. After ushering a zombie-like Doc from the garage to the lift up to the master suite on the third floor of the penthouse, she opened the safe room’s vault-like door pushing Bridget through it and gently sitting her on the narrow single bed. After talking to Michael she stood quietly, leaning against the door watching the other woman. Nearly an hour passed where neither of them moved. Bridget stared at her toes. Cher figured the doctor might be in shock but she was the last person to try to talk to or comfort someone. She couldn’t stand to be touched and hated being around people in general. She liked the safe room though, and was comfortable there. _No one, short of a terrorist armed with a hand held rocket launcher is getting in this box. Love it._

Over an hour later the phone by the bed rang. The doctor didn’t even flinch. Michael gave the hacker the ‘all clear’ and she gently pulled Dr. Westfall up from the bed by her wrist. They exited into a bright, sunlit suite of rooms.

Bridget blinked against the brilliance, her eyes stinging. “Where are we? What time is it?” She looked at her mobile, still clutched tightly in her fist. The skin underneath her cast was itching madly.

Before Cher could answer, Franky and Erica barreled into the room. Franky stopped short when she saw a bedraggled Gidge. Erica slammed against her back.

 _Franky? Here? I must be dreaming._  Bridget turned back to the woman who had brought her here. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around what was going on. Joan Ferguson had been in her home. Had chased her out of her own house with a bat in the dead of night. Then this mysterious person claiming to be a friend of a friend of Franky’s had magically appeared in front of her home, whisking her away to some downtown building where they’d gone up. Stairs? Lift? She couldn’t quite piece together the chain of events after Ferguson entered her home. She had ended up in some sort of bunker under the cover of darkness. But it was daylight now. She’d got into bed around half past ten. _The night before? Two nights? Last week? Wait. What day is it? Where have we been?_ “What…” She felt herself shivering but she didn’t feel cold. She looked down at her feet. They hurt. Badly. She saw dried blood spattered across the tops.  _Shock. I must be in shock. What the fu…_

Cher caught her as she fell into a dead faint.

“Let's get her settled into a room downstairs,” Erica said quietly.

“Give her to me!” Franky commanded.

The thin brown woman ignored her and headed toward the lift.

Franky rounded on her, standing aggressively in Cher’s way. “Who are you, anyway? The Girl with the fucking Dragon Tattoo? Give her to me. You don’t even know her!”

“Franky, love,” Erica soothed, placing a comforting hand at the small of the irate woman’s back. “Cher’s worked with Michael for years. She’s absolutely solid. Let’s just get Bridget to bed, clean her up. Her feet are a mess. Why don’t you go and find Maya, see if she can fix Dr. Westfall a plate. I’ll find her something fresh to wear, yeah?”

Franky was wild-eyed as she followed Cher who had altered course and was now disappearing down the stairs. Erica was close on her heels. “I don’t want her to wake up alone,” Franky choked back a sob. “What happened to her?” She asked the brooding, recalcitrant dark-haired woman.

“Miss Davidson is correct,” Cher answered quietly. “She needs food and rest. I was there in time. Ferguson didn’t touch her.”

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?” Franky yelled. 

Cher ignored her, stepping from the stairwell and moving quickly down the corridor toward one of the empty suites. A carbon copy of Franky’s, except different color scheme.

“I’m sorry,” the brunette breathed out, exasperated, following the slight woman into the room. She watched Erica move directly to the bed and turn down the bedclothes so that Cher could easily, gently place Gidge there. The recent graduate finally realized she was being completely hysterical and useless to everyone. Not her normal coolness under severe duress. _This shit was easier in Wentworth_. The thought was rueful. She would unpack that later. Right now, she needed to see to Gidge.

Erica pulled the doona up under Bridget’s neck as Cher pushed a lock of errant blond hair off of the psychologists face; it was almost a caress.

Franky fought the urge to slap her hand away.

“You see to her injuries. I’ll get food.” Cher left the room.

Franky pulled a chair close to the bed, near Gidge’s head, then went toward the bathroom.

Erica stopped her with a brief but affectionate kiss on the lips. “Stay here. I’ll bring the first aid kit,” she said quietly.

Franky sat in the chair after kissing Gidge’s forehead, then pulled one smaller hand between her two. She rested her head against their entwined fingers, startling when she felt a squeeze. She looked up to find Gidget watching her wearily.

“Hey,” Frank smiled, daring herself not to cry. “How you going?”

“Pretty shitty, actually,” Bridget responded, her voice raspy. “Everything hurts. Where am I?”

“Michael deMedici’s penthouse. Cher brought you to the safe room upstairs. Do you remember what happened?” Franky was pleased at how calm she sounded even though her stomach was in knots imagining what had happened to her ex-girlfriend over the past 12 hours.

“Umm,” she cleared her throat. “Yes. Joan Ferguson came to my house with a baseball bat. Smashed the constable’s head in and chased me into the street. Thank god that girl was there. How did you know?”

“I didn’t until a few minutes ago,” Franky answered her. “Michael just called and told us you were upstairs. I had no idea anything was going on.”

Erica emerged from the ensuite carrying a basin of warm water, several towels and a first aid kit. She stopped as she realized Bridget was awake. Spent a few scant seconds at war with her emotions witnessing Franky so tenderly holding the psychologist’s hand. “Um, should I give you a minute?”

Bridget caught her eye and pulled her hand from Franky’s, sitting up. “Actually, I’m famished. And could use a bath. And some fresh clothes.” She hissed as the sheets swiped across her scraped and bleeding feet. She swung them out from under the bedclothes and pulled one foot up into her lap. “Shit.” She inspected the damaged flesh. “Well, it doesn’t actually hurt as bad as it looks, but it’s going to make walking and bathing awkward for a few days.” She smiled tiredly up at Erica. “You don’t have any lidocaine lying around here, do you?”

“Probably,” Erica answered, setting the basin of water and bandages on the floor next to Bridget. “Let me ask Maya. Look around a bit.”

As Erica left the room, Franky, who had recaptured the doctor’s hand, kissed her knuckles. “Why do you need lidocaine? What can I do?” With her other hand she stroked Bridget’s ankle.

Bridgetwatched her for a minute, then pushed her free hand into Franky’s hair. “God I’ve missed seeing you. You don’t look too much worse for the wear, love. How are you going?”

“For godssake, Gidge!” Franky dropped to her knees wrapping both arms around Gidget’s waist, squeezing her tightly. “You’ve nearly been killed twice in less than a week. And both times violently attacked. I’ve been shacked up in this ridiculous mansion with the blonde bombshell for nearly 24 hours. I. Am. Fine.” She blew out an exasperated breath turning her head to look up at the other blonde in her life. “The other blonde bombshell,” she added sheepishly. “Just tell me what you need. Should I call Belle?”

Bridget stroked the younger woman’s face fondly. “Slide that basin over here so I can soak my feet, love,” she asked, drawing in a sharp breath as her damaged soles hit the warm water. “I’m a little banged up but mostly fine. Tired. Dirty,” she sighed, looking around the room for the first time. “This is deMedici’s penthouse?” Franky nodded in assent. “Mmmmm. Well, I am indebted to her for quick thinking and for sending that young woman. This could have been quite nasty on me otherwise.” She sighed, trying to get her mind around what should happen next. “Yes, love. Will you please call Belle and let her know I’m all right? Don’t say anything else. And can you find my mobile and shut it down? I don’t want to cause further complications for Michael by having my signal traced here.”

Franky reluctantly peeled herself away from Gidget. “Aye,” she stood up backing toward the suite door. “Are you all right here alone?”

Before Bridget could respond, Cher re-entered bearing a tray laden with food. Bridget beamed at her. “You’re certainly a godsend this evening. Or morning, I guess. Both. Cher, isn’t it?”

Cher blushed. Franky groused, staring daggers into her back as she watched the hacker place the tray of food on the bed beside the psychologist. Dragon Girl then quickly made her way away from the bed and toward the floor to ceiling windows at the other end of the suite and stood there in the shadows brooding.

Franky turned to leave as Gidge tore into the food selection. The graduate practically bowled Erica over with the swift, angry move.

“Whoa! Franky! You right? What’s happened?” Erica peered around Franky to see Bridget eating and Cher menacing. As per usual. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

“Nothing,” Franky murmured continuing on toward the stairs.

Erica stared after her for a minute, tamping down her own emotions. This was really the most inappropriate moment to get possessive with Franky. Bridget had, again, been assaulted and was in pain and now forced out of her home for the time being. And Michael had brought her here. She made a mental note to scream at Michael, not Franky.

“Topical lidocaine,” she announced. Bridget looked up at her with a slice of mango half into her mouth. Mango had recently become Erica’s favorite sweet treat, after some very erotic fruit play with Franky over the weekend. She almost blushed as the pictures of their shared desserts flashed through her mind. “I can likely get someone to bring some injectable, if that’s what you prefer…” She passed the small tube of gel to the psychologist.

“I’m sure this is fine,” Bridget responded, chewing the fruit while closely inspecting the medication. “I was actually kidding. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you would have this type of medication on hand.”

“It’s not mine,” Erica started. “This is Michael deMedici’s…”

“I know.” Bridget finally looked up at her. “I realize this is… pretty inconvenient for you. Probably more than a little annoying. And awkward for me. In the extreme. But I am eternally grateful to you and your friends for saving my life tonight, Erica.” Her mind briefly flashed back to the last time she’d seen Erica Pearson with Mark, at the association dinner. So much had happened over a very fast six months or so. So much had changed.

“I had nothing to do with it, really,” Erica replied. She didn’t want to like Bridget Westfall. But the woman was disarmingly straight forward and somehow made her feel at ease, even while she resented Bridget’s presence in her space; resented her knowledge of Erica’s most intimate affairs. Bridget Westfall was in Erica's best mate's home; a place Erica had considered her second home for most of her life. “But I’m glad you’re here, that Michael put Cher onto you; and that you’re safe. She’s brooding and reticent, but an absolutely brilliant gem if you can get past the reptile-like exterior. And she will take a bullet for you if Michael asks her to.”

“Ideally it won’t come to that.”

They watched each other for several minutes.

“It would have killed Franky if anything had happened to you,” Erica said quietly. “Your safety is very important to us both. We’ll find Ferguson. Michael will.”

Bridget nodded her head, opening her mouth to respond but Franky charged back into the room. 

“Oi, Gidge. I spoke to Belle. She’s mad worried but I told her you were being well taken care of.” She dropped the dead mobile on the side table and knelt down in front of her ex again. “Let me help you with your feet.”

“No, Franky. You should go. I need to get cleaned up and rest. Cher can help me. I’m really fine. Just hungry and dirty. Go.” She shooed Franky away with a push to the shoulder.

“But…” _Is she seriously fucking dismissing me? In front of that miscreant?_

“Cher will help me, right?” Bridget could feel the dark presence move closer. She didn’t need to look to see the young woman standing protectively behind her on the other side of the bed. And somehow her baleful demeanor didn’t bother Bridget at all. The combative look in Franky’s eye, however, was a bit amusing. _Ever the protector._ Franky was loyal to a fault.

“I’m not sure you should be alone here with Dragon Girl. She’s a little fucking off, Gidge.”

Bridget chuckled. “She saved my life, Franky. I've no reason not to trust her. Neither do you. Go! Away! I’ll see you later this afternoon, yeah?”

Franky let Erica interlace their fingers and pull her from the room.

*********************************

Erica followed Franky into her suite next door to Bridget’s. She had moved her belongings to the suite across from the graduate’s, not wanting to assume they would share a bed the entire time they were sequestered at chez deMedici. But after dinner last night, they had tumbled into Franky’s bed again, discussing the dossier that Michael had created, and what it might mean about the Freak’s next actions. Neither of them had even remotely imagined that she would take action against Bridget again so quickly. Franky had fallen asleep first, wrapped tightly around Erica who didn’t bother to move. She had slept well, again, in Franky’s arms, until their rude awakening around 4:00am with Michael Skyping in to tell them Bridget was upstairs in the safe room.

After the early morning excitement, it was now getting late for Erica to get ready to be on campus for meetings. Franky flung herself onto her back on the bed. Erica sat next to her feeling the urgency of needing to move back into her professional life but wary about leaving Franky so raw, virtually imprisoned in the penthouse with her ex.

“She really does seem to be doing quite well, despite the horrible experience,” Erica said, resting her hand on her girlfriend’s taut thigh. “Let her rest, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Franky moaned. “This sucks.”

“What sucks?”

“That Gidge is a fucking target. That I’m going to feel weird having sex with you while she’s in a room next door. That I feel completely useless trapped in this gilded fucking cage. I should at least be out looking for the fucking Freak!” She sat up and wrapped one hand behind her neck, squeezing.

Erica stood up and stepped between Franky’s thighs, kneading the tight muscles in her shoulders and neck while pressing soft kisses to her messy bed head. “Mmm. I need to go to campus, love. I have meetings this afternoon, and office hours.  Why don’t you get out of here a bit today? Maybe come to the library and study for the bar for a few hours? I know you won’t have to sit the exam until May, but it won’t hurt to get a head start. And once you begin at the firm, she’s going to run you ragged. That's barely a week out now.”

Franky pulled Erica in, separating the front of her silk robe with eager fingers, pushing her hands up under the smooth negligee and squeezing her bum. The younger woman pressed her mouth against Erica’s belly. “You’re right. I need to get out. It’s only been one day in here but I’m already feeling stir crazy.” A million things were going through Franky’s mind. She needed to find a new flat. She did need to set out a course of study to prepare for the bar. She wanted to visit Tansy but wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Her current girlfriend was in her arms and her ex wounded in room next door. She looked up at Erica, caught by the open cerulean irises. “God you’re beautiful,” she murmured. _How am I going to get used to this? I can’t even breathe half the time I’m looking at you._

 _Jesus. Jesus. We can’t. I have to go to work._ “Shower with me?” Erica surprised herself, wondering briefly if she'd actually said that out loud. That surely wasn't what she intended to say. Her answer to both musings came when Franky stood up, pulling Erica’s legs around her waist as she walked toward the ensuite. “No funny stuff Franky,” she husked as Franky’s lips and tongue traced a course of fire across her collarbone. “I really do have to… _fuck_.” Her breath caught as the brunette’s teeth tugged at her lobe, and a warm wet, tongue laved the rest of her ear. The only thing she could think to do to stop that mischievous mouth from further exploring her neck and shoulders was to kiss her lover.

This move, holding no irony whatsoever, had the opposite impact intended.

Professor Davidson managed to arrive only ten minutes late for her first meeting, heartily approving of the fact that her lover was not, in fact, feeling too weird about sex while Bridget was in the next room. But she was completely distracted and quite unprepared for her colleague. Even though she hid it masterfully.

**********************************

Joan Ferguson sat in the park across the road from the RMH, where she knew her niece was harbored. She planned to sit there most of the day, at least until darkness fell, observing the comings and goings of visitors. Hoping not to see anyone she knew. She was dressed rather shabbily in track pants, a zip up hoody and a baseball cap. It was all she could do not to twitch in such wretched clothing, but they made her blend in; unnoticeable. She had dark, aviator sunglasses on, and had shamefully let her hair go it’s natural salt and pepper rather than dying it black as she normally did. Again, this made her blend in. A bobbed, gray headed woman was not who anyone would be looking for when trying to find Joan Ferguson.

She had to admit she was almost astonished to see Franky Doyle approaching the front of the hospital, and wondered if there was anyone else there who the ex-inmate might be visiting. Surely she wasn’t here to see…

_Ohhhhhh. That sad, scared little slag of a girl who calls herself my family. I know she did not… She could not… Would not have betrayed me. Of course not. There must be some other explanation. Obviously. I’m being terribly silly._

She pulled out her mobile to call her accomplice. See if he could find anything about Franky Doyle having a friend or family in Royal Melbourne Hospital. She watched the young woman approach the front doors, then stop. The ex-inmate turned round and looked in Ferguson’s direction.

Without missing a beat, Joan Ferguson looked down at the newspaper spread across her lap that she had been pretending to read all afternoon. She started talking into the mobile as if she had already dialed and reached her partner, then turned a page, now reading into the silent mobile any words that jumped out at her from the page. She continued in this vein for several moments, then slid the mobile back into her jacket pocket. When she looked back up, Franky Doyle was gone.

Clearly today was not the right day to visit her niece. She again pulled out her mobile and logged into her Credit Suisse account to transfer payment to her associate. She was frustrated immediately to find herself locked out of the account. Her password didn’t work. She checked her ANZ account and found that one inaccessible as well. Had she been hacked? It was too dangerous to go into a bank branch to find out, so she would have to go to her cash reserve. She stood, folding the newspaper neatly and leaving it on the bench where she had been sitting. Then walked toward the train station that would take her to her dead brother’s suburban home.


	10. All Quiet on the Home Front

Her stay at the penthouse was extraordinary from Bridget Westfall’s personal and professional point of view. Michael deMedici, aside from being a very generous host, was fascinating from every possible perspective, drop dead gorgeous and an outrageously entertaining flirt. Additionally, the heiress exhibited some sociopathic and narcissistic tendencies that were not, in reality, very unusual in highly successful people. And Bridget felt safe there — the place was indeed like a fortress. Plus, getting to spend time with Franky was blissful. But it was excruciating seeing Franky and Erica together. Their chemistry was molten. Michael seemed to be energized and amused by their inability to keep their hands off one another and enjoyed playing with the newly paired lovers and teasing the psychologist herself. Bridget seethed inside, while keeping what she thought was a pretty good game face. Though she appreciated her ex’s efforts to tamp down the sexual tension when the psychologist was in the room, she couldn’t stop herself from feeling ridiculously jealous of the raging inferno between Erica Davidson and Franky. Franky had _never_ looked at Bridget like that. Her stay in the deMedici penthouse lasted just over 72 hours -- 24 of them exhausted in bed -- before she insisted on going home.

Cher had turned out to be an unexpected and pleasant ally. She wasn’t exactly social, but always seemed to be at hand when Bridget needed something as simple as help finding the television remote or as annoying as helping the psychologist move around on her injured feet. She would materialize silently, seemingly out of nowhere, render aid (or food or drink or whatever Bridget needed), then disappear equally quietly, like a wraith. When Cher chauffeured Bridget back to her town home in Fitzroy she’d expected to see a boarded up travesty. Instead her entire flat was right as rain, even if many things had been mis-replaced. The young woman had clearly anticipated Bridget’s desire to go home ASAP and had secured workers to replace all of her smashed ground floor windows. Her feet healed quickly; and thoroughly cleaning her home gave her something to do for the last few days of her recuperation. Doing it with Cher’s quiet help and watchful companionship made it pleasant.

To say the psychologist was relieved to sit in her newly sorted, sparkling fresh, Ferguson-free home was the understatement of the century. After multiple days of mayhem, knowing she was safe at home and no longer cooped up downtown with the obnoxious love birds -- in addition to being out of touch with the of the rest of her life -- almost felt like a new start. She was barely a month from finishing her probation. She didn’t want Joan Ferguson to think she’d been scared into hiding. And she didn’t want her clients to think her a frightened little mouse. The press coverage about her home invasion - following on the heels of the car explosion — had been beyond sensational and she had given several interviews when she’d emerged from the penthouse, hoping the furor would die quickly so she could get back to her life. A perk she hadn’t anticipated was the lithe but lethal Cher, who insisted on staying with her as a personal bodyguard. Bridget reluctantly accepted when she realized she was unlikely to be able to sleep alone in the house anyway. And she didn't want to put any of her mates in danger by asking them to stay. At least until Ferguson was apprehended. It was time to set up regular sessions with Belle. Again.

She sat in bed contemplating the last few days. The drapes covering the sliding glass in her bedroom were normally closed. Tonight — as every night now — they were wide open, a blinding floodlight illuminating the deck outside. Her entire home had been wired with motion detectors as well security cameras that gave her a 360 degree view of the small garden from her iPad, courtesy of Michael deMedici. Bridget would have to take out a second mortgage on her home to pay her back; but was glad of it at the moment, as she yawned but remained wide-eyed and awake.

“Come on,” she said softly at the light rap against her bedroom door. Cher entered holding a mug of tea, which she offered to her wordlessly. “Thank you. You don’t have to keep doing this, bringing me tea at bedtime. I can get up and get it for myself.”

The younger woman didn’t say anything. Only arched an eyebrow, leaving the question unasked.

Finally Bridget sighed. “Yes. Please stay in here tonight. Again.” She flipped down the covers on the other side of the bed. Franky’s side. “I swear this will stop. Soon.”

“I don’t mind.” _It’s better than the floor outside your door. Which is where I would be if not  in here with you._ She peeled off her hoody and track pants before sliding in between the cool sheets in a sleeveless top and boy-knickers, both white. She slipped a rather large hunting knife under the mattress and checked the safety on a small handgun that she tucked underneath her pillow before laying back with her arms crossed behind her head, eyes closed. “Try to get some sleep tonight, Dr. Westfall. I will keep you safe. I've had ten years of jujitsu training. I know how to use the gun and I can hit a target at 30 meters with the knife.”

Bridget tried unsuccessfully not to gape at the lithe form next to her for several minutes. Not just because of all the words Cher had just strung together, nor the information they contained. It was the first time the doctor had ever seen Cher without clothing that didn’t cover her from neck to ankles. Even in the heat of early summer she wore thick dark clothing like it was attached to her skin. For bed, too, as Bridget had witnessed the past two nights. But now, in skivvies, Bridget had to credit Franky with the Dragon Girl moniker. It was apt, given the multiple nose and ear piercings combined with the dark brooding manner and hacking genius; but precisely apropos given that every inch of exposed skin, aside from her face, neck, hands and feet, was covered in intricate, mostly indigo-inked indigenous tattoos.

After giving up the idea of not staring, and realizing that the young woman must have fallen asleep instantly or she would have felt the intense scrutiny, Bridget took her time lingering over the sharp nose, flawless brown skin, full lips. She was pretty in a teenage boy way. And her body was definitely toned, flat, hard. The psychologist let her gaze wander slowly across the lithe woman’s torso, her densely tattooed arms, her fabric-covered stomach, fighting the urge to peek under the covers pooled at Cher’s waist to examine her thighs and calves. Her eyes made their way back up Cher’s torso, across her nearly flat chest, stopped on the actual dragon etched across the fine collarbone. She had the unbidden image of her own tongue stroking that dragon tongue and pushed it away. Letting her gaze rest briefly on a dimpled chin then moving up further she was mortified to next see amused hazel eyes, flecked with green. Bridget blinked, turning away, red-faced with humiliation. Cher had been watching Bridget ogle her.

There was a low chuckle next to the psychologist. “Good night, Dr. Westfall.”

Bridget clicked off the light and set her magazine and her tea on the bedside table, sliding down to lay on her pillow, her back to her protector. _Sweet as, Gidge. That’s what Franky would say. Goddammit! What am I, 14?_ “Good night, Cher,” she tried to sound like an adult. The girl was younger even than Franky. Definitely young enough to be her daughter. _Quit with the cradle-robbing. Just no._

She sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose, resisting the urge to laugh hysterically. It was past time to get a grip. Get over Franky. Find a date. “And call me Bridget. Please. We’re sharing a bed for christssake.”

If she’d bothered to look she would have seen Cher, laying on her side, watching her. A small smile played across the young woman’s lips. “Good night, Bridget,” she said softly, closing her eyes.

Unbeknownst to either woman, Bridget answered her with a half smile of her own.

***************************************************

The Freak hadn’t resurfaced in the four days Franky stayed with Erica at the penthouse. Dragon Girl had uncovered the same suburban home Franky had when checking into Tansy. Apparently it was co-owned by Joan and her dead brother; and was Tansy Ferguson’s primary place of residence. The black-haired hacker had just missed Ferguson when she’d picked a lock there to search the house but couldn’t trail the woman any further. Franky had even tried to make nice with the young woman, as she was clearly much more adept than the graduate at finding information; and especially since Cher had set up shop at Bridget’s flat. 

Franky didn’t like that _at all_ but knew objecting any more than she already had would only set Erica off on a rampage. Again. The whisper fight she’d had with Gidge when she’d learned that Cher was staying with her _in her bed_ had been almost comical compared to the out loud fight she’d had with Erica who overheard her talking to Gidge. On the phone. Outside. Alone. On the terrace. By herself because she wanted some fucking privacy. The jealous Erica thing wasn’t so cute after four days cooped up in the mansion with the blonde, three days of which had also been spent navigating the finally open hostility between Erica and Gidge and Michael’s annoying habit of ribbing all three of them about it. Shit timing that Gidge’s stay started on a Friday, which meant they were stuck together 24-7 on Saturday and Sunday, with Erica not even making an excuse to go to campus if it mean leaving Franky with her ex.

It was the fight that ultimately motivated her to defy deMedici and go home on Tuesday morning. But a contrite professor apology on the same evening drew Franky back to Erica’s bed that night. The argument had not derailed their sexual appetite for one another by any stretch.

"So what’s the deal with Dragon Girl anyway?” Franky asked, breaking up a bar of muesli into her bowl. She sat next to Bridget at the breakfast bench in the penthouse kitchen. She poured almond milk over the cereal. “She acts like I don’t exist.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Erica swallowed her yogurt. “It was a full year before she acknowledged me. She’s had a rough time of it. She’s indigenous, grew up on the street. Michael found her about ten years ago — she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old.”

“What do you mean, ‘Michael found her’?”

“Michael literally found her on the street. Homeless. Her story is horrific. And why she trusted Mike to care for her I’ll never know. But she’s a technology savant — can literally hack anything, anywhere, anytime. And she’s completely loyal and devoted.” Erica watched Franky muse over this.

“Lucky slag,” Franky smiled ruefully, only briefly surmising the ‘what ifs’ that could have been should Michael deMedici have stumbled across nine or ten year old Franky on the street and decided to take her in. “So there’s no way to hack _her_? I think I could help with finding Ferguson if she would share what she knows. I know that fucking monster better than just about anyone.” She felt Erica watching her and decided, finally, that she liked it. Good thing as she’d noticed Erica watched her a lot. Could barely keep her eyes off the brunette when they were in the same room. She leaned over meaning to give her lover an affectionate peck, but ended up lingering. “Ummm,” she pulled back slightly sliding one hand along the outside of a taut thigh, underneath Erica’s skirt. “Can you be late this morning?”

It was unreal how much sexual tension there was between them still. It made Franky loopy. It had barely been a two weeks they had been together as lovers, but the fire seemed to get hotter. The brunette wondered how long before they would burn out. This couldn’t possibly endure. But she couldn’t stay away.

Erica backed off of the stool around to the other side of the island, pulling her bowl of yogurt and granola with her. “No I can’t be late this morning, Franky Doyle,” she smiled playfully at the predatory gleam in Franky’s eye. There was nothing she’d rather do than get back into bed naked with her girlfriend. “Don’t you have things to do as well? You’ve only five days left before you start your career.”

“Yes,” Franky responded, taking another bite of cereal. She talked through her mouth full of food as she tore her eyes away from the blonde’s tantalizing cleavage, inspecting her breakfast instead. _What the fuck is the matter with you? Stop drooling. You’ve got her attention. You’ve had sex nearly every night for the past two weeks._ “I have to find a new flat — lease is up at the end of the month and two of my mates are moving out. I’ve been looking for something I can afford on my own. Not so swave and deboner to be having it off with my girl with flatmates in the kitchen,” she smiled wryly. She hadn’t ever invited Erica to her flat. It just seemed ridiculous to have the professor over amidst the uni girls. “Especially since you’re so loud when you come.”

“You aren’t exactly Marcel Marceaux!" Erica protested, laughing. The next bit came out before Erica really thought it through, which seemed to happen quite a bit around the green-eyed brunette. “I’ve got three bedrooms, Franky, two of them empty. Why don’t you just stay with me?” She was immediately horrified. She’d just asked her girlfriend of two weeks to move in. _Shit. Did I actually mean that? Even if I did, too soon, David, too soon. How do I walk that one back?_

Franky looked up at her girlfriend startled, then back down to quickly finish her meal. “Errrr… A bit early in the fuckfest to be shacking up, reckon?” _Fuck. We need to go. Change subject. Get out of here. Fuck. She can’t be serious._ At the same time, the younger woman shockingly realized she wasn’t at all opposed to the idea. And alarmed at herself because of it. She was absolutely not the stereotypical one-month-to-u-haul lesbian couple by any stretch. She’d never lived with a partner before. Ever. She’d actually never been monogamous before Gidge. And she thought she wanted a future with Erica Davidson.

 _Fuck. Should I be considering this? Wait. Did I just massacre her feels?_ “Erica?” _Or maybe some time apart is good. This is insane. There’s no way we’re ready to live together. Even temporarily._

Erica had turned her back so Franky wouldn’t witness the flush of shame and disappointment across her face. “I only meant until you found someplace you really wanted. You wouldn’t need to get too comfortable at my flat; or settle for something that you didn’t really like because of the timing,” she lied. She had absolutely meant that Franky could move in with her. And she was stung by Franky’s swift, ostensibly automatic rejection of the idea.

Franky moved around the island, pressing herself against her lover’s back. “Erica…”

The blonde stepped quickly out of the embrace, placing her half eaten breakfast into the sink. “No. It’s fine Franky. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll go get my things. Why don’t you grab the car keys. Will you drop me at campus this morning?” She was halfway across the room at this point. “You can keep the car today if you like.”

Franky’s anger sparked. _Seriously?!? Walking out because the conversation got uncomfortable?_ “Hey, Professor Davidson,” she called after the swiftly fleeing blonde. “What’s the rush? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to disappear on _you_ for three _fucking_ years without a word.”

Erica stopped mid-stride, frozen for several very long seconds not looking back, then left the room.

 _Fuckfuckfuckityfuck!_ Franky immediately felt helpless and oafish at the same time as she watched Erica run from her. From her rejection and her anger. _But it wasn’t a rejection. I just don’t want to mess this up. You said we would do this right. I want to do this right. I want to stay and I want you to stay too._ But maybe Erica wasn’t thinking in the same terms. Moving in together right now seemed a very easy way to sabotage the relationship. And she’d learned a lot about self-sabotage from her work with Gidge and the not-Gidge therapist whatshisname.

Was Erica not able to think about the two of them as a real couple? Was she just a hot lesbian experiment to the professor? After all this time? And clearly she was still angry at being abandoned by her first champion. She had thought she’d worked through that in therapy. _Fuck._ Her heart began to sink. Two fights in two days. She followed the blonde out of the kitchen.

“Erica! We should talk about this. Why don’t I cook for you tonight? Here?” She called after the form swiftly retreating up the stairs.

She heard her answer in the slam of the door to Erica’s suite.

************************************

When Joan Ferguson returned home from her day watching the hospital she knew immediately someone had been in her home. She quickly reviewed all of the security footage from the time she’d been out and realized it had been cleverly disconnected and reconnected within a 30 minute window. 

Time to relocate. She gathered a few items from the house that she knew she could not do without. Including her stash of cash — she still hadn’t figured out how to get back into her bank accounts and her idiot of an associate wasn’t being much help in that department. Although he was highly motivated as he wouldn’t get paid again until she did. 

She walked through the house one final time, a trail of kerosene dripping from the upturned can she held against her hip. As she exited the back door, she flicked her disposable lighter and tossed it back into the house.  The heat across her back from the burning home was a pleasant counter-balance to the chill of the midnight air as she strolled out of her suburb toward downtown Melbourne.

*****************************************

Erica sat on the penthouse terrace drinking a glass of expensive pinot gris. She wasn’t very put off by the ‘imprisonment’ at deMedici’s place, as she was absolutely a fan of expensive wine. And having a personal chef. And cleaning staff. And a multi-million dollar view of the Melbourne skyline. 

She had just not answered Franky’s fourth call of the day. Franky had left an incredibly sweet and apologetic message about her crass response to Erica’s offer for a ‘back-up plan,’ a frame which left both egos intact. Yet the blonde was still mortified at what had popped out of her mouth and didn’t trust herself to talk to her girlfriend quite yet. And she was now wondering if Franky could ever be serious about her. About them. The automatic rejection of her offer, despite what Franky had said about their sexual compatibility, led her to believe that she wasn’t so different from the thousand women Franky had fucked and forgot after all. That realization cut her much more deeply than she was ready to admit.

It was a late November evening and quite warm as she sat outside sipping her wine, watching the sunset. She heard footsteps approaching, bare feet. _Michael. Thank god._ And then her best mate was sitting next to her, a fresh bottle of wine in one hand and her wine glass in the other.

Michael had barely looked at Erica and knew that something shocking had happened. “Fuck, Dave. Please tell me you didn’t break up with her already.” She filled her glass, placed it on the table, then reached for Erica’s hand and nearly empty glass, refilling it. “What did she do? Do I need to kill her? Sack her?”

The blonde chuckled sadly. “God no. Don’t stuff her career. It was me being an idiot. And I’m not quite sure how to recover.” Michael leaned back settling into the couch and held her arm out. Erica eagerly planted herself in the familiar embrace. “I asked her to live with me.”

“Smooth move, Ex Lax,” Michael quipped. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t mean it. I mean I did…” She took a sip of the wine. “My filter seems to be completely off with her. I say things before I’ve thought them through,” she sighed, wriggling against the lanky brunette. _God you’re bony. Franky is… perfectly firm and soft at the same time._ “She was talking this morning about being in a bit of a bind, needing to move house in two weeks. And I know she starts with you on Monday. David Einstein here smoothly offered her one of my two empty bedrooms to stay in.” She sighed again, dramatically. “She couldn’t get out of here fast enough.” That wasn’t entirely true. But that’s how it had felt in the moment.

“Shit. I hate to say it, but I would have probably had the same reaction.” Erica jabbed her in the ribs. “Unless it was you, of course.” She pressed a kiss to her mate’s hair. 

“We seem to have agreed to a mutual lie about it. I was only offering a back up plan and she overreacted in thinking I was actually offering to live together.” She sniffed.

“How bad is it, Einstein?” Michael rubbed her cheek against the silky locks.

“Like a fucking ice pick in the chest.”

“So this is serious.”

“I… don’t know,” she hesitated, trying to muster some confidence. But she was woefully short, fearing she had really stuffed them up. And already she couldn’t imagine her life without Franky in it. “Yes. It is. But maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we should have just stayed… platonic. Strictly mates. Maybe I don’t even know how to be in an authentic relationship.” Hardly one full day had passed and she already desperately missed Franky; the easy banter and teasing rapport they’d had for years. But there was much, much more than that now — more even than the mind-blowing sex they’d been in for the past two weeks. And… “I’ve loved her all along, Michael. But I don’t think the feeling is mutual. And I don’t think I can go back.” She sniffed again but was unable to hold back the tears. 

Michael rescued Erica’s wine glass and placed it on a side table as the woman turned and sobbed in her arms. “For fucks sake, David.” She hated it when Erica cried. It made her feel the opposite of invincible and Michael Lee deMedici was very clear about her capacity to make _anything_ right. It wasn’t even that Erica cried much. But when she did, it pierced the brunette to her core; lit a fire under her arse to fix whatever was wrong for her mate. She knew she spoiled Dave ridiculously; but so the fuck what? She was adorable, even when she lied, schemed and manipulated. And so fucking easy on the eyes. And a damn good barrister. And Michael’s best mate. Period. 

She’d suspected this depth of feeling from Erica about her ex-charge since the beginning at Wentworth. It was hard to hear. Michael had always held a torch for Erica. But she wanted her mate to be happy more than anything else. She would move the earth to make it so.  But Erica was such an adept liar — especially to herself — which usually led to clusterfuck and someone getting his feelings hurt. But this time it was Erica's heart on the line. And Franky Doyle's too, if she read the couple correctly. “I think you shouldn’t rush to any conclusions. She’s clearly nuts about you.” _Time to break the cycle, David._

“But for how long?” Erica sobbed into her mate’s chest.

_Christ almighty. Quit with the histrionics. I swear to god you turned into a child with this Doyle chick._ “Jeez, will you stop with the crying? What did she say? Exactly? And why aren’t you rooting her brains out right now, reminding her why she should crawl a thousand meters across broken glass to have the extraordinary privilege of living in sin with you?”

Erica sat up, wiping her hand across her nose, then wiping it on the front of Michael’s shirt. That somehow made her feel better. She smiled at Michael’s look of feigned disgust and open affection. They’d shared a lot more intimate fluids than a little boo-hoo snot. 

“She said, ‘a little soon in the fuck fest to think about shacking up, reckon?’ Then she apologized for being crass.” She reached for her wine glass, taking a long drink. 

Michael had a good laugh at that. Sounded like something she would have said. If she were an ex con. “Again. Why are you not fucking her brains out? Right now?”

“God, Michael. I can’t bear to face her. I’m completely embarrassed. I mean, what kind of rookie move is that?”

_Jesus. This really is new for you. You’re behaving like a hormonal teen. You gorgeous whinger. Don’t you realize what you have with her?_ “David.”

“Michael.” Erica took another long drink of wine. 

“If you fuck this up, I’m not going to sack her. I’m going to have it off with her myself. You realize that, right?”

The tears stopped. Erica frowned. “You wouldn’t.”

“Think about it. And don’t be such a baby. I don’t get the feeling Francesca Doyle has much patience for that.That shit works with blokes but Franky’s not a bloke. It’ll get old. Fast. Talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Don’t go trying to marry her yet; but make sure she knows this is real. For all she knows, this is a walk on the wild side for you.” _Like it was with me. For two decades. I should hate you but I can’t. And you insecure is pretty fucking cute, Dave._

She watched Erica considering this and thought briefly about the short time they’d had Bridget Westfall in the penthouse. The woman was remarkably solid, sane and lacking in any obvious or hidden agenda or ulterior motive with Franky as far as Michael could tell. And she’d absolutely done background report on the psychologist. From the few hours Michael had spoken with her, and from Cher’s research, the lanky barrister could not fathom such a lapse in judgement as Bridget’s with the student-slash-former patient; despite Franky’s appeal. The only answer was that Bridget was in love with Franky — undoubtedly wanted her still, though she’d hidden it well. David didn’t have a lot of room for error here.

“Five days, Dave. In five days her life will be mine for the foreseeable future. Call her up. Talk to her like the adult you’re supposed to be instead of blowing snot all over my Armani. Take her to Port Douglas for some play time. I have that place at Shantara, remember? Take her there.”

Erica eyed her suspiciously, the tears drying up quickly. “I thought I was on lock-down…” She placed her wine glass on the table.

“Yes. Done. Cher found Ferguson and her Quasimodo, and put GPS trackers on them both. They’re holed up at that suburban dive. We’ll know when and where they move so I’m cutting you loose.” She sipped her own wine.

Erica sprang up like her arse was on fire. “Seriously? Mike, you are the BEST!” She skipped across the terrace, her mood completely altered. _Franky. Beach. Bikini. Oh hell yes! Suck it up and apologize post-haste, Davidson._

“Dave!”

The blond stopped just short of the doors leading back to the interior of the penthouse and looked over her shoulder, her expression excited and pensive at the same time. “Hmmmm?”

“Don’t _lie_. Tell her how you feel. Maybe stay away from the four letter words, but tell her you’re going the distance, aye?” _You'll get used to it, eventually. And it'll stop sneaking up on you like that once you get in front of it._ Michael inclined her head. “Go pack. Minimal, Dave. The fewer clothes, the better. I’ll wrangle the jet for you, love.”

“I loooooooove you!” Erica shouted as she disappeared into the penthouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short. And angsty. The election politics over here in the US are so freaking nutty I really needed to get something up to distract me from the news. More very soon. Next chapter is pure sex and fluff and angst, so you might skip that one if you don't like that stuff. And yaaaaaaaaaaay for new Season 4 starting next week!


	11. Beaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is total fluff. They needed a break. Very explicit sex stuff. [Sorry, Nef. You aren't going to like some of it.] Then things are going to get crazy again for the next few chapters.

**** Half an hour later Erica stood outside Franky’s building trying to muster the nerve to buzz her girlfriend. She’d never been to the former student’s flat before. Franky had never invited her and Erica hadn’t thought much about it. It would have been inappropriate in the extreme for her to be there over the past year and a half, for all the reasons she had kept her hands to herself (mostly) during that time. But everything was different now.

She had divorced her longtime partner and was now in a very hot sexual relationship with her former charge. It was better than she could have imagined in terms of their sexual affinity. The emotional stuff was a much different ball of wax.

She knew she was in love. Deeply. She couldn’t at all tell what was going on with Franky in that respect. And it was waaaaay too early in the relationship to be asking those types of questions, wasn’t it? They weren’t even remotely close to leaving the ‘hot sex everywhere all the time’ phase of being together. Didn’t they need to get a little less horny with each other to have a rational conversation about longevity?

Or was the conversation past due? After all, they’d started this song and dance years ago back at Wentworth and had been growing steadily closer over the past year and a half while Franky completed her studies. Their friendship had blossomed and other feelings had only intensified. But clearly the younger woman wasn’t in the same place — she had swiftly and blithely shot down Erica’s invitation to shack up. Plus, Franky was still quite angry about being left — for good reason. They hadn’t talked about it. Erica never even tried to explain. She needed to try. If that was going to remain a place of hurt between them they didn’t have a chance.

And now she was again springing something on the green-eyed woman — a fancy trip on a private jet to an over-the-top luxurious resort that neither of them would have access to without Michael deMedici. Was it too much? Would Franky shoot her down again? Was it worth the risk? _Franky. Beach. Bikini. Yes. No. Arrrgh._ She pressed the intercom and sighed, hoping the impromptu getaway, would be to the younger woman’s liking. They could easily downgrade it, drive up the coast a couple of hours and find a rental for a few of days if Port Douglas was too posh.

“Oi, who is it then?” The voice came through distorted. Erica couldn’t tell if it was Franky or not.

“Erica Davidson for Franky Doyle?”

The door buzzed and clicked. Moments later Erica was standing inside Franky’s flat, swooning beneath the scrutiny of worried jade irises.

“Hey Gorgeous,” Franky said softly. “Did something happen? Are you right?” She reached out and took one of Erica’s hands, interlacing their fingers.

Erica stepped in close, staring at the slightly parted lips on the other woman. It had barely been ten hours but all she could think about was kissing her. Her body language, at least, wasn’t hostile.

The blonde forced herself to make eye contact while she slid her free hand up Franky’s other arm, across her shoulder then curling around the back of her neck under silky brown locks. “I want to apologize for being such an idiot.”

“But…”

“No.” She placed two fingers against the softest lips she had ever felt. Anywhere. She stepped in closer, pressing their hips together. “I put you in a very uncomfortable position and then I freaked out about it. I’m sorry.”

“I thought we’d agreed that I was the idiot for turning you down…” Franky leaned in and rubbed her cheek against Erica’s. She was a bit disconcerted at how much she’d missed the other woman. How out of sorts it felt, being at odds with her.

Erica pulled back, putting both arms around Franky’s neck. Noticing that she had shifted the blame back to herself. She pressed a featherish kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I have another idiotic proposition for you.”

“It wasn’t idiotic, Erica,” Franky leaned into the kiss, capturing her lips completely but quickly. “You just caught me off guard.” Was there actually a way to revisit this? It was too soon to think about living together. Obviously. But she was having a hard time remembering why. They’d known each other for years at this point. Been proxy dating for the last two. It wasn’t completely nuts to think about co-habitating, was it? She kissed her girlfriend again, swiping those delicious lips with her tongue. “So what’s this new idiotic idea?”

Unable to resist any longer, Erica answered her with a devastating kiss that Franky could feel all the way to her toes. She backed into the kitchen, then pushed the blonde against the island bench, lifting her up onto it. Erica’s legs wrapped around her waist, those sinewy thighs pressing against her hips tantalizingly. Franky stopped thinking and answered the blonde’s call to action sliding her hands under the back of Erica’s blouse, reaching for her bra clasp.

“Errrrm, Franky?”

Erica flinched, pulling out of the kiss but not letting go. Over Franky’s shoulder she could see two young women, both blondes, staring at them curiously. One was giggling.

Franky sighed, helping Erica back to her feet before turning round. “Oi, Fitz. Kiki. This is Erica. Erica, Jennifer Fitzsimmon and Kiara Verde. She goes by Kiki.”

“Professor Pearson?” The taller one, Kiki, said.

 _Oh fuck!_ “Ahhh… you can call me Erica. No need to stand on formalities.”

Franky could feel Erica’s blush and humiliation before she looked over at her. She pulled her by the hand toward the corridor where the girls’ bedrooms were located. “Chill, you amateurs,” she groused at her flatmates. Kiki was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Fitz couldn’t seem to pick her jaw up off the floor. “Mind your business.”

“Sweet as,” Kiki quipped, slapping Franky’s arse as they passed and moved into Franky’s room, out of view. “Holy shitstain, Batman!” she said to Fitz. “Franks is badasser than I thought!”

“Right?” Fitz had finally closed her mouth and found her voice. “Pearson’s, like, one of the hottest professors on campus. And isn’t she married?”

“Totally, reckon? Let’s look it up!” They both tumbled back onto the lounge in front of the telly, googling Erica Pearson on their mobiles.

Erica and Franky, meanwhile, were very pleasantly occupied snogging deeply on Franky’s tiny twin bed. She shared a room with another girl, Ghislane, who was thankfully out at the moment.

The brunette reluctantly pulled her lips away from Erica’s. Propping herself up on one elbow, she settled her knee quite solidly between the blonde’s legs and pressed her hips down. “So you were going to proposition me?”

Erica stifled a moan. “Michael has a place in Port Douglas. She’ll let us take her jet. We could leave tonight, come back on Friday or Saturday.” She rubbed her thumb absently along Franky’s bottom lip. Her lipstick was there. She needed to stop wearing lipstick around Franky. It was just futile.

Franky stilled against her, her expression slipping out of it’s usual smarm.

 _Fuck fuck fuck! How is it that I keep getting this so wrong?_ “Or not,” Erica added quickly. “I’m sorry, Franky. We can just go up the coast a couple of hours? Road trip?” Franky continued to stare at her blankly. She sighed. “Franky. I’m sorry if it feels like I’m being pushy. I am crazy about you. I want to have some alone time with you before you start at deMedici and I don’t see you anymore for days on end.” She felt herself starting to get teary, took a deep breath trying to tamp down her emotionality at being rejected once again. “I just… I lo…”

Franky kissed her then, cutting off her next sentence. A sentence that was sure to have been an idiotic declaration of love that would probably have sent the brunette running for the hills. _Why can’t I control my mouth around her? Jesus Christ!_

When the younger woman pulled back the familiar cocky look was there. “No worries. You kind of short circuited my brain. I want to make sure I understand this.” She traced one finger along Erica’s jaw. The other woman tensed against a shudder. “You. Sun. Sand. Bikini. For three days.”

Erica nodded, lips pressed firmly together, afraid of what would come out of her mouth if she tried to speak.

Franky’s million-watt grin appeared. The one that turned Erica’s insides to jelly. Franky jumped up, bouncing up and down on her toes, practically wiggling with excitement. “Aussie beach! Fuck yeah!” She went to her wardrobe searching through a drawer for her swimwear. She turned to stand in the doorway holding two swimsuits — a one piece and a two piece. “Which one?” She grinned at Erica. “And for the record. I’m a bit nuts over you too, Miss Davidson. In case you hadn’t noticed. When do we leave?”

“Both.” Erica grinned widely herself. “As soon as you’re ready. There’s a car waiting downstairs to take us to the jet.”

“Shit!” Franky’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could be in the air right now, rather than messing about in this pit.” She rifled through another drawer. “What did you pack? What do I need to bring?”

Erica joined her in the wardrobe, unable to keep her hands to herself. This was going to be a fantastic holiday. She wrapped herself around her lover from the back. “You don’t need much, honestly. The place is fully stocked and Michael keeps a lot of clothes there. I know there’s stuff there that will fit me, so it will likely fit you as well.” She kissed the back of Franky’s neck.

The brunette chucked a few items into her backpack, then turned in Erica’s arms. She pushed away the sense of impending doom; that the other shoe was about to drop. That her time with Erica Davidson was limited and that when the blonde had had enough of the lesbian adventure, she would move on.

“Franky,” Erica started, uncertainly. She thought about what Michael had said to her. _Be honest. Don’t lie. Tell her how you feel._ “I just want to be clear. I’m more than a little crazy about you. I have been since Wentworth and it took me a long time to admit it to myself. I don’t want to frighten you away; but I do want you to know I’m in this for the long haul. With you. If you want,” Franky was silent and the blonde focused on the little cleft between collarbones under olive skin, unable to make eye contact. _I’ve never felt this way before and I don’t want to stuff it up. God this is awkward._

She felt two fingers under her chin. Closing her eyes, she let Franky lift her face.

“Look at me. Please?”

Erica felt a chill in her spine as she opened to glassy, hard, emerald orbs. _Fuck. She’s going to dump me now. FUCK!_

Franky kissed her tenderly, then pulled her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear. “I’m not sure what this is.” She pressed a kiss there. She didn’t trust Erica quite yet, was unclear if Erica even knew what she was talking about. “But I know enough about myself to tell you that I’m not ready to live together. Me coming to stay with you, even in the short term, would blow us apart.” She backed away before she lost her nerve, scooping up her backpack and pulling Erica by the hand toward the front door of her flat. The idea of waking up every morning with the blonde in her arms was infinitely appealing. In spite of everything she knew to be wrong about the proposition to co-habitate, she really, really wanted to say yes.

But then Gidge’s voice of reason was there. _Give her time. Timing and approach._ “We need more time together. Plus, I’m about to start working for your best mate. I better prove myself un-sackable before I try to shack up with Michael deMedici’s David, aye? Are you even out to your family yet?”

Erica Davidson swore she was walking on air. Franky had not rejected her. “No — I was going to talk with them next week. We have a family dinner once a month. It’s a zoo.” _I hope you don’t hate it when I ask you to come with me to the next one._ “I have a sister and four brothers. Several in-laws and nieces and nephews.”

“Sweet as,” Franky answered quietly sarcastic as they settled themselves in the back seat of Michael’s town car. She hoped Erica hadn’t caught the irritation in her response. _Not! Fuck. She better not want me to go to a fucking family dinner anytime soon._

 _She’s going to love them. And they’re going to love her! I hope. But first things first._ “So, Franky Doyle.” She straddled Franky’s lap in the back seat, not caring whether the privacy screen between the driver and the passengers was up or not. “Have you ever been to the Mile High Club?”

“Never been on a plane. Never been outside Melbourne. Where is it? At the airport?” Franky teased. She knew damn well what the Mile High Club was. And she had every intention of visiting it with Erica.

That sobered Erica for a moment. “Wait. Are you okay with all of this? I meant to check first thing, Franky. I apologize…”

“No. Don’t. Stop apologizing. It’s amazing. It’s awesome. And I l… So many things have happened in the past… several years that would never have happened without you. I don’t want to be all sappy and shit, but thank you, Erica. Thank you for believing in me. And for everything you’ve done… Getting me onto law, in with deMedici…” _And fucking abandoning me. But I’m not ready for that conversation yet. I don’t think you are either._

“Shhhhh,” Erica placed her fingers across Franky’s lips. “It was all you. You just needed a bit of support. Mostly different role models and the opportunity to do something other than get in trouble. There’s nothing I did for you that I wouldn’t have done for any of the women at Wentworth. Everyone should have a chance. You just were dealt a rough hand. You being right here right now is down to you, Franky Doyle.”

She kissed the brunette tenderly. “And I do owe you an apology, for leaving like I did. I need to explain, Franky…”

Franky cut her off sharply. “No!” Erica was taken aback at the vehemence in her lover’s response. Franky could see it in her face. “I mean…” she softened. _Still sensitive there. Let’s leave it for a bit._ “Let’s not have that conversation just yet, okay?” _I don’t want you to lie. And I’ll know if you do. You may not even know how to tell the truth about that yet._ “Let’s enjoy the holiday, yeah? Save some of the heavy lifting for after. We have time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the blonde kissed Franky’s forehead, then pressed hers against the smooth, warm skin there.

Franky’s eyebrow shot up as her hands automatically searched out bare skin under the blonde’s blouse. “So you’d do this for anyone at Wentworth?”

Erica shuddered as Franky’s thumbs pressed against her nipples. She moaned and arched into the caress. “Shit. No! You know what I meant.”

Franky smiled. She did know what Erica meant. “So explain to me about this Mile High Club thing…”

*****************************************

Four hours later Franky lay across a bed staring up at the ceiling fan whirring slowly overhead, trying to catch her breath. Erica lay bonelessly on top of her. 

“What the fuck was that, love?” They’d had sex in the airplane. Twice. Then in the car during the hour long drive to the resort. And again just inside the doorway once they’d entered the flat. Then a fifth time when they finally made it to the bed. 

Erica chuckled against Franky’s chest, pressing a kiss between her breasts. “Dunno,” she answered, rolling off her lover and scooting toward the edge of the bed. She looked back over her shoulder, smiling shyly. “Too much?”

“Hah! Never,” Franky answered, drawing her fingers up along the blonde’s naked spine. The room was candle-lit, but the younger woman could swear Erica emitted her own soft glow. _So beautiful. God you slay me._ “You going to catch or release?”

“Huh?”

“Get something to drink or pee?”

_Oh._ “Both, actually. Anything for you?”

“Water. Definitely. I’m parched. I think I sweated it all out.” Franky pulled herself up to a seated position against the headboard, resting her arm on a bended knee as she watched Erica’s perfect, naked arse leave the bedroom. She wondered how in the world the woman had the energy to walk. Make-up sex with her new girlfriend was fucking incredible. 

When Erica returned to the bedroom, Franky was fast asleep, seated upright. She placed a pitcher of water and two glasses on the night table and crawled into bed, pulling Franky down against her back. Pleased when the other woman didn't seem to wake up, but did curl around her as if she'd been doing it for years.

*****************************

Franky emerged from the ensuite in an old pair of white denim cut-offs and a light blue linen button up under which she had her one-piece suit. She wasn’t going bikini until she knew exactly what she was in for at this posh resort.As she reached the entry way she nearly passed out seeing Erica there.

The blonde was wearing an oversized white linen button up that was completely open, revealing the smooth, flat concave of her belly and the gentle ripple of her ribs. The royal blue bikini halter modestly covered the perfect handful-sized breasts that Franky had spent hours worshipping the night before; but the bikini top, as bikini tops were prone to do, left very little to the imagination. As Franky ogled the blonde’s chest she grinned wickedly as nipples hardened under her scrutiny. The peachy skin across Erica’s hips was covered by a bright pink sarong with orange and white flowers on it tied low. Franky thought her brain might explode out of her ears. Miss Davidson in a bikini. _Miss Davidson in a bikini. Miss Davidson…_

Erica laughed softly as she watched Franky’s eyeballs nearly pop out of her head. “Surely you’ve seen a girl in a bikini, love,” she said. “Now come on. We’re wasting valuable beach time,” she beckoned to to Franky with one hand while securing her beach bag over one shoulder and adjusting her wide straw hat atop her blonde tresses. 

Franky quickly caught up to her at the door, bracing one hand flat against it next to Erica’s head as she tried to open it.

“Franky!” 

The younger woman pulled the straw hat away tossing it behind them and pressed herself fully against Erica’s back, kissing behind her ear and then nosing into the shirt to press her open mouth against a bare shoulder.

“ _Franky!_ We’ve got to…”

“No. I know,” she interrupted, nibbling on the closest ear. “But I have a rule.”

Erica turned her head enough so she could see the brunette's green eyes. “Rule?”

“Yes. We don’t leave without a kiss. Even if we’re fighting.” She wrapped her arms around Erica’s waist, pulling her tightly against her front. “Especially if we’re fighting.”

Erica reached up, pushing her hand under Franky’s hair curling her palm around the soft nape there. “I think I can do that,” she answered in a hushed tone as she turned her head more, opening to the searing kiss. Franky’s hands made their way up to her breasts, palming them gently, then pressing firmly against her already hardened nipples. _Fuck. This is not possible. Even if I want to, I can’t possibly…_ “Franky, please…” she begged. “I don’t think I can…”

Franky turned her gently, pressing her up against the door as she continued to kiss her, deepening it. Erica tried to stay focused on getting them out but she was finding it hard to not revel in the faint, tart-sweet flavors of strawberries and kiwi they’d had for breakfast. Franky often tasted of fruit, Erica mused, her beach bag dropping to the floor as she tangled both hands now in brunette locks, fusing their mouths together firmly. 

Her sex was swollen and aching, not even from arousal at this point but from overuse. Still, Erica could not seem to make herself want to stop kissing Franky Doyle; to stop feeling those hands seeking out her bare skin. She wondered why she couldn’t seem to get her legs to work, to wrap around Franky’s waist as they so clearly wanted to do, her thighs straining against the rayon wrap, which the younger woman deftly loosened and dropped to the floor, quickly following the trajectory herself and ending up on her knees in front of the blue-eyed barrister.

Franky seemed transfixed as Erica watched… felt… Franky’s hands slide up her thighs; around back to squeeze her arse, then up to her hips, index fingers curling under the elastic band of her swim gear. She tugged, gently.

Erica gasped. “Franky... Even if I want to, I don’t think I can. I need more recovery time.”

“I know. Me too.” Franky continued to tug down her bottoms, staring hungrily at the curly wisps of short-hairs emerging now from the lowering scrap of cloth. _Miss Davidson in a bikini. Gotta get her out of that bikini. Right?_ She pressed her lips reverently to Erica’s mons. “One kiss.”

Erica’s eyes widened. Surely Franky hadn’t meant to kiss her _there_ every time they left somewhere. The sheer logistics alone would… _Wait. How am I even trying to make this make sense? Why are we both blithering idiots together?_ “Franky,” she gently pressed two fingers beneath the kneeling woman’s chin, forcing her to look up. Her eyes were glossy with lust. “We have two and a half days yet here. Plenty of time. Yeah?”

Franky blinked once, then twice, shaking her head and standing up. Blushing adorably. She retrieved Erica’s sun hat. “I don’t know how you do that. Short circuit my capacity to reason. Just smack me next time, would you?”

Erica’s smile grew bigger at that image. “Definitely.”

******************************

Erica didn’t even pretend to read the magazine spread across her lap as she lazed on the resort-provided chaise under the resort-provided umbrella set up on the pristine white sands of Four-Mile Beach. There were quite a number of people there, given it was nearing end of summer. Franky had jumped up and down like a child when she’d seen the kayak and surf board kiosk. She had been out in the waves for nearly an hour. Erica had watched every second of it, sipping on a tumbler of iced water.

Franky was quite the accomplished surfer, it turned out. Very much a water sports girl, Erica learned, realizing there were so, so many things she did not know about Franky Doyle. That she flirted with everyone — even men — shouldn’t have surprised the attorney in the slightest. She tried not to seethe with jealousy watching the small group of admirers that congregated around Franky in the water. But she had to also admit to the pleasure she felt every time she realized Franky had rejected another suitor by pointing to her girlfriend up the shore. Erica saw this happen several times.

She stood up, rapt, as Franky took a particularly large wave that few other people had bothered to try. She was glorious on top of it, perfectly poised. Erica was distracted by a wet… something, bumping up against her knee. She looked down to see a small white dog with brown spots. A Jack Russell terrier. “Jeeves?” 

The dog began bouncing up and down at her feet, his nose almost reaching waist height in his excitement. Each bounce was accompanied by an overexcited lick somewhere on Erica’s naked-except-for-bikini skin.

 _Oh no! You gotta be kidding me._ She crouched down to scratch behind Jeeves’ ears, murmuring, _Jeevie! Jeevie!_ to the excited dog, letting him lick her face as she searched for his owner, spotting him only meters behind the pooch.

Mark’s best mate, Tad. 

Tad was a beefy man, a good head taller than Mark and a head and a half past Erica’s just over 1.6 meters. He seemed rather scary, in a rugby kind of way; and he was a semi-pro baller. It was obvious he was gentle as a teddy bear, though, once he opened his mouth. She hadn’t seen him since the divorce but she knew he knew everything, being Mark’s confidante.

Tad approached smiling affably as he always did. “Oi, Erica! How ya goin?” He scooped up the little dog in his massive arms. 

Erica had always found the pairing just short of hilarious. But she didn’t feel like giggling now. She wanted him to disappear. This was her quality time with Franky. She didn’t want to spend one minute of it on Mark Pearson.

“Can’t complain, Tad. You?” Even though she had sunglasses and a hat on, she shaded her eyes with one hand and looked out toward the ocean, trying to spot Franky again. She didn’t see her. The other blokes who had ridden that wave were still up.

Tad stepped into her line of vision, between her and the water where Franky was. “I’m fine, Eri. But Mark’s a mess. Why don’t you just give him a call? It’d do wonders for him to hear your voice.”

Erica had always hated that nickname. Eri. Aerie. ‘Arry. Her name was E-ri-ca. She liked Tad, but found her ire quickly raised as he blocked her view of her girlfriend. She sidestepped him. “Tad, don’t. It’s been bloody hell on us both. The best thing is for everyone to move on now.” She squinted into the surf. _Where the hell is Franky?_ Her pulse picked up and she started walking toward the water.

Tad grabbed her arm, preventing her forward progress, spinning her around to face him. “Come on, Eri. This isn’t like you. I know you haven’t completely given up on him…” he beseeched.

_Oh my god!_ Erica wanted to scream. This was exactly what she wanted to give up on — this mealy, docile, giving in she’d always done with Mark. Always letting him lead. Always doing what he said. Franky made her want to take, not just lie there and take it. Franky made her want to push and be pushed back. Franky scared and thrilled her and she loved it. Franky made her feel. Mark had bored her silly. 

“Let me go!” She wrenched her self away from Tad and began jogging across the sand toward the water. She saw Franky’s board come up but no green-eyed brunette. She picked up her pace, her throat tightening. _Where the fuck is she?_ “Franky!” she called out. She knew it was ridiculous — Franky wouldn’t hear her if she were under water. And if she were still under water, she’d been there too long. Several people turned to look at her. Now she was running.

Just as her feet hit the water a head popped up on the other side of Franky’s board, her tanned arms grasping across the top of it. She whipped her head around, shaking the water from her face and hair, catching Erica’s frantic gaze as she steadied herself.

Erica stopped, putting her hands on both hips. She tried to be cool, raised an eyebrow as if she’d been standing there for hours waiting, tapping her foot impatiently. Franky’s lopsided grin caused Erica to smile back but it didn’t stop the yammering of her heart as she watched her girlfriend pull herself on top of the board and begin paddling toward shore. A few short minutes later Franky stood in front of Erica, one arm around the surf board.

“Did you see it? It was fucking spectacular!”

“You almost drowning? I’m sure it was,” Erica groused, reaching forward and cupping the brunette’s face then dropping her hand to a brown shoulder, sliding it back to hold the back of her girlfriend’s neck. She stepped into her personal space. “I looked up and you were gone.”

Franky grinned at her cheekily. “Did I scare you?”

Erica looked down at the sand, wrapping one hand behind her own neck as she sheepishly entangled their fingers together, mortified to find herself near tears. She had, in fact, been scared shitless.

Franky chuckled as she pulled the blondes fingers up to her mouth, kissing her knuckles. “Awww, Babe. I’m fine. A bit banged up but fine. Come on,” she disentangled their fingers, holding Erica’s chin in her hand, forcing eye contact. She saw the blinking back of tears, which made her heart ache, which kind of made her feel a bit angry. “For fuckssake, Erica! I’m fine. Seriously!”

“Maybe you should just shut up and kiss me?!” Erica practically yelled at her. 

Franky stared at her in stunned silence. But only for a second, before dropping the board, placing both hands firmly on Erica’s bum pulling their hips together, and planting the deepest kiss she could muster on short notice on the blonde’s pouty mouth. 

Erica kissed her back, sucking her tongue greedily, feeling Franky’s hot body against her; those amazing hands squeezing her arse. She wanted to keep going, to tumble down on their chaise under the umbrella and explore each other at leisure. She wanted to inspect every inch of Franky’s skin; kiss her everywhere, see for herself that all the pieces were intact. Then she heard the yipping of a small dog. _Jeeves. Tad._ She pushed Franky away roughly.

“I don’t do public display, Franky Doyle.” It was Erica this time with the rakish grin. Teasing.

Franky returned the wolfish smile, bent over to pick up her board with one hand and slung the other arm around the blonde’s shoulders, pulling her in for another quick snog. “Yeah, you do,” she answered as they turned away from the surf, walking hip to hip, Erica’s arm loosely about Franky’s waist.

The attorney was captivated by Franky’s wet, wild and athletic allure and continued watching her as they strode up the beach together. She wanted to lick every drop of water off her face and neck. And other places. “Seriously, Franky. Did you get hurt at all?” She wanted to have sex with her girlfriend. Badly. But if she was actually injured…

“Wait. Who’s the Terminator with the tiny dog?” Franky eyed Tad suspiciously. He was staring at them venomously. “I think I’ve got a nice bruise on my hip. You can check it for me later,” she said under her breath as they came face to face with the hulking man.

“He said you turned carpet-muncher, but I didn’t believe him!” Tad hissed at Erica. “You are a CUNT!”

Erica opened her mouth to tell him to leave them the hell alone, but she wasn’t fast enough. By the time she did feel the words on her lips, Franky had dropped her board into the sand and punched Tad in the nuts. Hard enough that he doubled over, dropping to his knees emitting a high pitched squeal. Jeeves popped out of his arms and bounced wildly in circles in the sand, yipping at Franky but not quite approaching.

Franky growled back. “And your little dog too!” She lunged at the pooch. He scrambled away behind his master, still yipping. “Don’t you ever fucking call my girl out of her name, you fucking arsehat!” She kicked sand at him. “Get the fuck out of here!” She said back over her shoulder, glancing at Erica. “Please tell me you don’t know this wanker so I can kick the living shit out of him?”

Erica felt a blast of heat in her groin. Mark had never defended her, threatened anyone over her. He never even got angry or remotely upset about his wife being groped, disrespected, or just insulted. When anything of that sort happened in the past Mark would reason with the inappropriate person; or tell his wife to ignore them. Franky’s primal, instinctively, violently protective response inflamed Erica’s deepest passions. She wanted to be owned by Franky. Possessed by Franky. And the brunette seemed to have an instinct for giving the blonde exactly what she needed at precisely the right time.

The attorney stepped between Franky and Tad, circling her lover’s waist with both arms and pressing her full length along Franky’s wet body, taking a salty earlobe between her front teeth. “He’s Mark’s best mate. And let’s go. I really need you to fuck me right now.” She stepped away from the brunette’s tempting physique and began to gather their things.

Franky jogged up behind her, still eyeing the moaning hulk in the sand with the mini-me bouncing and barking around him. She grabbed Erica’s wrist, stilling her motions. “Wait. What?”

Erica blushed. “You heard me. Now come on!” She had loosened herself from Franky’s grip and pushed the last of their belongings into her beach bag. 

The younger woman fetched her surf board and ran with it toward the kiosk. “Maybe I want to hear you say it again,” she shouted back across the sand, grinning in anticipation.

*************************************

The younger woman had quickly understood what Erica wanted sexually and had given it eagerly. But she wasn’t yet clear how far either of them wanted to take the rough play. The blonde liked to be taken forcefully; she liked to play at resisting, pushing Franky to tease her until she begged for it. And the brunette was more than happy to oblige.

And she was riding her now, hard from behind, with a particularly large dildo strapped to her groin. Erica’s wrists were cuffed to the headboard. She moaned with pleasure as the front of Franky’s thighs slapped the back of Erica’s loudly with each thrust. 

“You like that,” Franky yanked the blonde main back, stretching Erica’s neck.

“Yesss. Don’t stop,” she huffed out. “Harder.”

Franky widened her knees, spreading Erica open a bit further and watched the little pink bud between those perfect arse cheeks pulsing with each thrust. And she had an idea. An idea that was sure to throw Erica off her game. Which was fine about now. Erica had been very demanding since they’d arrived at the resort; and Franky had been inspired and generous with the newness of the relationship and their incredibly volatile chemistry. And even though it was the blonde handcuffed, Franky felt it was about time to remind her who was really in charge.

She pulled out suddenly, pressing the large phallus gently against the blonde’s nether opening.

Erica gasped, quickly trying to close her legs. “No,” she sputtered. She looked back over her shoulder. “Please, Franky. Don’t do that. I don’t like it.”

“Have you tried it?” Franky backed up and bent over, pressing soft kisses to Erica's bum.

Erica lay flat on her stomach, crossing her legs. “No. And I don’t want to.” She closed her eyes tightly trying to stay aroused within what was suddenly real fear; not the manufactured scares of Franky’s rough handling and her own faux resistance. “Just don’t.”

She felt Franky pulling her cheeks apart, blowing on her. “How do you know you don’t like it, Miss Davidson, if you haven’t tried it?”

“Franky please!” Erica’s voice broke. _This is going too far. Please stop. Please stop._ There were many things she was willing to do, wanting to try with Franky. But anal? _That’s just disgusting. It’s the out door!_ Amy Schumer’s video, “This is Where the Poop Comes Out!” blazed across the inside of her eyelids. “Oh god, Franky,” she groaned. “Please! Stop it!” Now she was begging in earnest. And she was afraid.

Franky heard the rattling of cuffs as Erica shook at them in frustration. She blew on the pink bud again, then kissed her there, very gently. She tasted of sun and the lavender aloe they’d used as moisturizer after their post-beach de-sandifying shower, before getting to the sexy time. “Relax, love. Trust me. I’m going to kiss you again. Then I’m going to go inside. Just a little. If you really hate it, I’ll stop.”

“Franky, please!”

“Shhhhhh,” Franky kissed her again, then pressed her middle finger against the tight ring of muscle, pushing past the boundary up to her first knuckle. Erica gasped. “Does it hurt?”

“No, Franky, but…” She rattled the cuffs again. She was trembling now. She felt trapped and not in a good way. She wanted to cuffs off now. “I don’t…”

“Shhhh,” Franky kissed one cheek, then the other. “Okay, love. Turn over.”

Erica seemed to think that meant Franky was pulling out, finally. She swung one thigh over Franky’s head at first pleased to see the green eyes twinkling at her, that talented mouth descending on her swollen nether-lips. But then that invasive finger was shoved in to the hilt. “Unh,” Erica grunted as Franky took her clit into her mouth, sucking tenderly. “Oh god.” The discomfort in her bum was quickly getting tangled up with the ecstasy of Franky’s tongue on her, inside her. “Fuck.” 

Franky watched the blonde’s face carefully. There was confusion and discomfort painted across the scrunched brow. And pleasure. She moaned against the slick folds. Erica’s unique flavor was addictive, and her hips were belying the torment on her face. She slipped her thumb inside her lover’s other opening, setting a gentle but even tempo with her fingers while she worked the tiny bud up top with her tongue.

The cuffs rattled again as the blonde’s torso contracted, the intensity and speed of the orgasm surprising them both. “Ungggggh!” Erica shouted as her thighs clamped around Franky’s ears, her pelvis trembling. “Fuck! Cuffs off,” she was panicking now. “Please! Nicole!” 

Their safe word. Franky’s middle name. She chuckled against Erica’s center. “You’re going to have to let go of my head, love.” Franky's voice was muffled by the blonde's taut flesh. Erica’s thighs slowly released their hold on Franky’s ears. She moved to her knees and crawled up the bed. Erica’s face and chest were red with embarrassment as Franky leaned over to the night table to fetch the key, then unlocked her lover from the headboard. 

Erica sat up quickly, avoiding Franky’s eyes, and moved to the edge of the bed rubbing her wrists. They had chafed. She had been pulling rather hard against them during the… _Arse fucking. I let Franky fuck me in the arse. And apparently I liked it. Jesus._ She moved to stand up, she needed some space and was unable to face her lover in the moment.

Franky captured her from behind, pulling her back to the bed and wrapping her arms around her, nuzzling into her neck. “I’m crazy in love with you, Erica Davidson.” She knew she’d pushed her girlfriend hard. But it was necessary. And it was the right thing to do. She would see that soon enough. But now a little cuddle was due for them both. Again, to make sure Erica knew who was in charge.

Hearing those words, Erica melted immediately into her girlfriend’s arms. _How do you fucking do that?_ “My body seems unable to resist you, Franky Doyle. Even when my head very much wants to,” she responded softly.

“You have to trust me, Erica. I really, really do know what you want. And what you need. What we need. Sexually.” She pulled the blonde tighter against her front.

“How do you know that?” Erica turned in her arms, staring at her chin, not quite ready to meet her eyes. “How can you possibly know?”

Franky kissed her sweetly. “Mmmmm. Maybe I’m the Erica-Whisperer,” she said against the blonde’s mouth before deepening the kiss. “It was scary for me the first time, too.”

Erica finally met her eyes. “You like it?”

“Reckon?” She wondered what the blonde was thinking. _You up to putting your finger in my bum love?_ Franky smiled, cheekily. _You’ve been talking a good game till now…_

Erica pushed Franky flat onto her back, climbing on top of her, watching her shyly. Trying to not think about how quickly and pleasurably her body had reacted to what she’d thought would be an unwelcome invasion. How easily Franky continued to read her. How more and more out of control she felt with this woman. And incredibly safe. She kissed between the brunette’s breasts, then pulled a taut nipple into her mouth, sucking hard, then biting. _Let’s see if I can make you squirm, Francesca Nicole._ It occurred to her that Franky didn’t have a safe word. Only the blonde did. 

“Fuck!” Franky growled, arching into the contact. 

The blonde pressed her thigh hard between her lover’s legs. She was sopping. All other thoughts quickly fled her brain as she moved quickly toward what she always craved these days. The taste of Franky’s sex in her mouth.

*******************************

Joan Ferguson sat inside the Fitz Cafe, sipping a black tea and enjoying a steel cut oat muesli with fruit and almonds. She didn’t normally like to eat out, but had inspected the kitchen at the B&B where she currently stayed and found it lacking; the hostess wanting. The Fitz Cafe staff had gladly let her roam the restaurant kitchen which, to Joan’s pleasure, was extraordinarily clean and the staff quite disciplined in their food preparation. She had taken several meals here over the past few days, as a variety to the cooler and groceries she had stashed in her room. She needed to find a better living situation, with a kitchen and a fridge. But she was still trying to figure out who had hacked her accounts freezing her out of them. Likely the same person who had invaded her home, rendering it moot. She hadn’t enjoyed burning it. But there was no other option.

She’d been reading up on Bridget Westfall via google. The woman had not been revoked and was only 30 days or so from full reinstatement. It was terribly wrong that she had gotten away with that deceitful, completely unacceptable breach of professional ethics while Joan had been arrested. For saving Doreen’s baby Joshua. She saved a life, damnit. Bridget Westfall had destroyed her career. Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle and Bea Smith needed to pay. She had another plan for Franky Doyle and her miscreant, traitor of a girlfriend Erica Davidson Pearson. And Bea Smith was like a fly under a glass. Plenty of time to deal with her. But first, Miss Westfall must die. It was absolutely unacceptable that she was living her life as if nothing had happened. 

A flash of color outside caught her eye. Joan was fully incognito, having dyed her hair white and cut it to a bob, just barely brushing her shoulders. She was dressed in a long skirt and a flowing blouse, looking rather hippy-ish. The people here knew her as Danielle Martin. Danni. Dan. Which is what her identification said. She focused on the action outside. It was a young woman, severe but pretty. Petite. Reminded her a bit of Jianna. _Except…._ Something niggled at the back of Joan’s mind. She placed her mobile carefully on the table, and stood, just as the young woman headed for the front door of the cafe to come inside.

She hadn’t seen Joan yet but Joan definitely saw her fully. She was familiar, yes. But not because she looked like Jianna. She was familiar because she was that bitch who’d pulled Miss Westfall from her clutches only weeks ago. Joan gathered her things and strode quickly toward the back of the restaurant, toward the back exit. 

She left her mobile behind.


	12. Freakin' Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky has finished law school and ended a relationship with Bridget Westfall. Ferguson has escaped the prison hospital for the mentally insane and reappeared to torment Bridget, first blowing up her Porsche then coming to her home with a baseball bat. Once again, Ferguson is spotted in Bridget's neighborhood while Franky and Erica are navigating Franky's first month at as an associate at a high end law firm and the impact of long work days on their burgeoning relationship.

Cher opened the door to the Fitz Cafe, scanning the diners intently. Ferguson was sure to be in disguise but that height was hard to hide. She thought she saw a tall figure disappearing down the corridor toward the loos, but the woman was slimmer than she remembered the psycho being. Plus she had a short, white bob and flowing clothing. The opposite of what the Freak would be wearing. _Exactly what she should be wearing if she didn’t want to be recognized._ Cher hurried after the disappearing figure while phoning Bridget. She cursed as she recognized the abandoned mobile on the back table.

Cher had found the burners in Ferguson’s house when she’d broken into it; and placed a bot on the GPS in each that allowed the hacker to track each of the devices if they were within a 100km radius. She had programmed it to give an audible alert if either of them came within 5km of Bridget’s home. It had sounded 15 minutes ago, which had prompted Cher to get to Brunswick Street as quickly as possible and see what that bitch was up to. Stop her from getting up to no good. She’d never told Bridget about the tracking devices or the alert, not wanting to frighten her unnecessarily. She was under enough stress just knowing the woman was still out there loose. But now she would need the Doctor on high alert, ready to defend herself if necessary.

“Dr. Westfall. Please make sure all the doors are locked and close the ground floor curtains. I have a visual on Joan Ferguson. She is just leaving the Fitz Cafe.” Cher mentally kicked herself. She should have had the alert set for further out. Ferguson would likely get to Bridget before Cher herself could get there or police could be summoned.

“What?” Bridget gasped out. “How did you even… What should I do?” Bridget felt the adrenaline kicking in. She was tired of this game with the former governor. Tired and now afraid of what the psychotic woman would do this time. She didn’t want to die at the hands of this fiend who had likely terrorized and brutalized countless women over the years; just like she’d done with Jody Spiteri. And if the car bomb or the home invasion were any indication, the Freak was absolutely going to kill her. It was Bridget’s duty to put an end to this; help put Ferguson back behind bars where she belonged. She just hoped it wouldn’t involve bodily harm to herself or anyone she cared about this time.

“Arm yourself. Stay put. Call triple zero. I’m either on my way back to you or I’m tailing her. I’ll check back soon.” She ran out the back door of the restaurant and saw the tall figure retreating quickly down the alley. Cher sprinted after her, autodialing Michael.

“DeMedici. What, Cher?”

“I’ve got a visual on Ferguson. Please send a car to Dr. Westfall’s. I’m tailing the psycho but she’s on Brunswick in Fitzroy. She’s within 5 km of Dr. Westfall’s home.”

“Fuck! How did that happen? Ten minutes.” She rang off.

Cher neared the end of the alleyway and could see traffic moving in both directions on the road. Not too many people out strolling on this lovely morning. As she charged out to the sidewalk, a large sedan suddenly appeared from down the road, engine revving and tires skidding as it turned sharply toward the alley. Everything slowed as Cher had barely enough time to launch herself into the air, the front of the car skimming her shins as she landed with a thud on the bonnet, denting it. She made full eye contact with Joan Ferguson before rolling off the side of the car landing hard on the pavement on her right shoulder, wincing at the white-hot arc of pain that exploded there. She went with the roll letting the momentum push her back up onto her feet, windmilling one-armed backwards until she slammed with a thud against a vehicle parked at the curb. She couldn’t properly see the plates as Ferguson sped to the other end of the alley and disappeared around the corner.

Several people approached her with good samaritan concern. Did she need a doctor? Should they call an ambo? Did she need transport to hospital? She waved them all away, smiling through the pain in her shoulder. She hugged her arm across her middle to stabilize what she hoped was not a break, but merely a bruise or sprain, and dialed Bridget with her free hand.

“I’m on my way back. Michael has sent a car which will be there in ten. I should get there about the same time.”

“Are you right, Cher?”

“Yeah,” she exhaled harshly. The level of pain in her shoulder did not bode well for her. _Maybe not. She tried to run me down._ “I’ll see you in a few. Stay safe… and don’t hang up.” She ran awkwardly for several minutes, her hurt shoulder blinding her with pain with every thud of her feet. Then she heard a loud crashing noise through the mobile and Bridget’s sharp intake of breath. “Dr. Westfall?”

“Fuck! She’s here, Cher! What do I do?”

“Do you have the gun?” She could hear the blonde doctor nearly hyperventilating on the other end of the line.

“Yes!” 

“Keep breathing. And shoot her.” Cher began to sprint towards her destination, ignoring the searing pain.

The whole process took hours, but the exchange that happened between Bridget Westfall and Joan Ferguson really only took about two and a half minutes. It felt like two and a half days to Bridget, time seemingly stopping as she saw the sedan barreling across her garden toward her front door, then through it. And calmly, as if she was attending afternoon tea, a white-haired, bobbed former governor stepped out of the car, carefully making her way across the rubble she’d created.

“Miss Westfall.” She smiled. Cool as a cucumber.

Bridget backed up several steps from her now ruined lounge and dining area into the kitchen. She widened her stance and raised her Glock, holding it as steady as she could with her right hand. The left one was still in a cast. She aimed directly at the tall woman’s chest. “I will shoot you.” Bridget was suddenly very angry at Joan Ferguson. Angry and weary of the constant siege this woman had made of her life. The former governor had destroyed Bridget’s home again. The psychologist knew she was emotionally ready to stop being subject to the obsessive threats and disruption to her life. Just done.

“No, you won’t,” Ferguson answered quietly, taking slow steps toward her former staffer. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, Miss Westfall. Unless, of course, it’s Erica Davidson. Did Franky Doyle even wait 24 hours before going from your bed to hers? I’m sure you would love to hurt Erica Davidson.” She enunciated the name carefully again. Watching for the telltale wince, or narrowing of eyes, or rapid blinking; signs that Westfall was distracted.

Bridget should have expected this but she didn’t. Her arm shook slightly and the gun wavered as she blinked, trying to ignore the images of Franky with Erica that had been conjured by the repetition of her her ex girlfriend’s current girlfriend’s name. She backed up another step, taking a deep breath and clearing her mind, focusing on the psycho who continued to advance on her. 

She clicked off the safety. “No. You see, Joan, psychologically fit individuals don’t go around maiming or killing people who inconvenience them,” she answered. “Stop or I _will_ shoot you.” She suddenly knew she could do it. And had never felt more ready in her life.

Commotion exploded behind the former governor as deMedici security arrived, kicking through the wreckage that was Bridget’s front door and entryway, yelling at the former governor to stand down. 

Joan Ferguson moved faster toward Bridget, until the muzzle of the gun pressed directly between her breasts. “Do it,” she whispered.

Bridget thought about all the possible outcomes of this moment. Ferguson could disarm her and kill her. DeMedici security might get to her in time and take Ferguson down. Ferguson might change her mind and surrender. But in the final analysis, all of these scenarios meant that the woman could potentially be around to stalk her (or someone else) for years. And wouldn’t the world be a better place without the psychotic bitch anyway? She heard Franky’s, _Fuck yeah!_ in her head. Then she saw Joan Ferguson’s mouth curl up into a half smile. 

Bridget squeezed the trigger.

*************************************

“Look, Franky. That’s not really going to work. I can’t even say it… Without… Just, no. You’ve got to be Francesca here, yeah?”

Franky grimaced as she sat across from Michael in her office. She’d been on staff barely a month now, and had spent more time inside deMedici & deMedici than she’d spent at home over that time. By far. But she was loving every minute of it. Even though it was now Saturday evening and she hadn’t seen Erica in four days. And now she was going to have to get used to being called Francesca again. Her mum called her that, which is why she hated it. Her mum hated ‘Franky,’ which is why she insisted on it.

_But you are so far from your mamma right now, Doyle. Man up, girl!_ “Yeah. Fine.” She leaned forward expectantly. 

She’d been there since noon looking up case law for the dockets she’d been assigned as beginning associate. Michael had called the new attorney’s mobile, then come into the office about 45 minutes ago with another partner, her brother Gianni; and Giulia Paretti, a senior staff attorney. They had a heated meeting in Michael’s office and then Michael had called her in, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other first year associates working the weekend. 

Michael was wearing a fantastic evening gown the color of glacial ice that dipped down nearly to her navel in the front and was like a second skin everywhere else. Her long hair had gentle waves in it. Franky was having a hard time not staring. The deMedici woman was breathtaking.

“I’m sorry to do this to you after only a month,” Michael eyed her. “Actually, I’m not really. You’ll need to get used to it.” She studied Franky’s face. “Obviously this is highly confidential. No one else in this office is even to know the details of this case. Suzanne Stone has asked for an emergency meeting and I already have an event this evening that I can’t miss. I’m taking your girlfriend, by the way.”

Franky perked up at this. Suzanne Stone was one of the biggest film and television stars in Australia. Plus, maybe she’d see Erica — even if only for a few minutes. “Nice. So what’s the skinny?”

“Ms. Stone has an arranged marriage. She is a lesbian and her husband is gay. But they are no longer enamored of the arrangement or of each other. Because she’s far more famous, he’s threatening to out them both to get more money. Despite the prenup.”

_Suzanne Stone? A lesbian? This I would not have guessed._ “Okaaaay.”

“She’s…” Michael looked out the window, “There’s no easy way to say it. High maintenance is an understatement. Do you understand what that means? You have to be her distraction tonight because I can’t sit in this meeting and hold her hand. Even though she is one of our highest profile clients. _You_ are going sit in this meeting and do the handholding. Giulia will handle the business. Capice?”

“Wait… you’re serious… Why can’t Ms. Paretti stroke the ego?”

“Yes I’m serious. And Giulia’s not exactly Stone’s type.” Michael looked over Franky’s shoulder and smiled, then focused again on Franky. “Charm her, Doyle. Be over-the-top complimentary. You’ll see what I mean when you get in there. I’m sorry I can’t do this with you — it’s going to feel like there’s a hidden camera somewhere, trying to trap you doing something ridiculous. Just go with it. Do you understand? This is an essential skill for this business. Taking the complete ridiculous in stride.”

Franky frowned. This sounded like a very delicate situation that could easily cause her get to get sacked. “I’m not sure I get it…” Then she turned, following Michael’s adoring gaze, to see Erica approaching. 

And her brain froze. Erica was wearing a red dress that was also like a second skin, but sparkly. Thank god it went up to her neck — if there had been exposed cleavage Franky may have actually passed out. It had been several days since she’d had her hands on her girlfriend and she missed her. A lot.

Erica’s hair was swept up into a tight french roll. She was devastatingly beautiful. She grinned at Franky as she sat carefully in her girlfriend’s lap and kissed her.

“Mmmmmm. Hello, love. I haven’t seen you in days,” she went in for more.

“Hey!” Michael called, coming round her desk with her purse and wrap. “We don’t have time for this. Try not to say too much, Doyle. And if she propositions you outright, tell her I’ll sack you for sleeping with a client.”

Erica stood up, brow scrunching at Michael. “If who propositions whom?” She caught Franky’s fingers as they tried to slide up her dress on the inside of her thigh.

Michael found Erica’s arm and pulled her toward the lift. “Giulia can handle the paperwork; and if there's a problem, Ninni is in his office. Don’t screw this up, Doyle!” 

“Wait,” Erica stopped. “You’re setting Franky up with a client?”

“No!” Michael rolled her eyes. “Would you come on? We’re already late. Franky’s taking one for the team tonight.” She directed her parting comments at Franky. “She’s mostly harmless but annoying as fuck with an extremely fragile ego. Just smile and nod. And when she fishes for a compliment, give it to her. It’ll feel stupid but just do it.”

“Franky!” Erica looked around Michael, who had pushed her into the lift and blocked her attempt to get out to kiss Franky again. “Will I see you tonight?”

“You want me to come over, I will,” Franky grinned at her. 

“I left a key in your pocket!” Erica was glowing. “I’ve missed you!” The lift doors closed.

Franky ran her tongue across her lower lip, tasting Erica’s lipstick which she swiped at with the back of her hand. “You know, there are people with actual problems who could use this kind of emergency weekend meeting legal support,” she groused and sighed, checking her suit pocket. As promised, Erica had left her a set of house keys. While Franky was completely enraptured with the goings-on at this high end firm, she was consistently shocked and appalled at the level of waste: time, resources, energy, on what was basically stupid shit that didn’t matter. But it was what rich people wanted. She’d barely been there 30 days, but was already wondering what one day’s worth of effort from even two junior attorneys at this firm could do for a couple of her mates still in Wentworth. Like Booms. Or Dor. Even Red. “Unbelievable,” she continued talking to herself as she made her way from Michael’s office toward the conference room.

“You make it through your first two years here, I’m betting you could convince Michael to do some of that. She likes you. A lot. Already.” 

Franky flinched, not realizing her angry monologue had been overheard. She hoped Giulia hadn’t seen Michael’s date’s tongue down Franky’s throat. DeMedici had been very clear that it would not be a good idea for anyone on staff to know that the new associate was fucking Michael’s best mate. It would make the younger woman vulnerable to way too many political machinations too early in her career. But Michael hadn’t seemed to mind Erica sitting in Franky’s lap a few minutes ago. Did Michael ever tell Erica no? About anything, Franky wondered?

The senior attorney held out an arm indicating where Franky should sit. Right on the hour, the lift dinged.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Franky responded to Giulia’s comments. She hoped they were true.

“Let the games begin,” Giulia smirked at her as she turned to greet the television star.

Franky tried to keep her eyeballs from popping out of her head. Suzanne Stone was much smaller than she appeared on the screen; and way too thin. The matte make-up plastered across her face hid what seemed to be a slightly ghoulish pallor to the skin which continued down her neck and disappeared into the low cut blouse. The blouse was unbuttoned nearly to her belly button, revealing almost non-existent breasts. Franky could see her nipples plainly through the thin fabric. She stood as the star entered the conference room, wondering if she always dressed this way for business meetings or was that outfit for Michael?

The woman gaped at Franky open-mouthed. “Who the fuck is this and where the fuck is Michael?” the woman whined, focusing a laser-like glare on Giulia.

“Francesca Doyle is Michael’s new associate. She has quickly earned a place as Michael’s right hand ‘man’ so to speak. As you know, Michael is unavoidably detained this evening. But I assure you, Francesca and I can see to all of your needs for the time being.”

_Itty bitty titty committee. Itty bitty titty committee._ It was all Franky could do not to break out in a fit of giggles. The platinum blonde’s open-mouthed stare reminded the ex-prisoner of one of Boomer’s looks when she was very, very lost as to what the conversation was about. Almost bovine. She tried not to gawk as the woman teetered on impossibly high heels around the table, plopping herself into the chair next to Franky’s. The brunette focused on Giulia, waiting for a cue as to what the hell to do now.

The senior attorney smiled at the starlet and opened the folder in front her her, gesturing for Franky to do the same for the folder in front of Miss Stone. Franky did.

“Does she even, like, like me?” Suzanne directed at Giulia. 

“Of course, Miss Stone. In fact, Francesca was just going on about your films. You’re her favorite movie star of all time. What is your favorite film of Miss Stone’s, Francesca?”

Franky had no idea where it came from but she was soooo glad it did. She had, in fact, seen all of Stone’s films. The woman was quite a good actress. But not fantastic by any stretch; and apparently more than a little vacuous. Franky was having trouble reconciling the screen presence of the woman with this pasty, skeletal maladroit. “On the Line,” she blurted out, focusing a comically adoring gaze on the woman. “You killed it as the cancer-ridden wife of a professional basketball player who’s career is going down the tubes as you get sicker from chemo, but keep going to his games religiously. You were robbed of the best actress AACTA in 2013. I couldn’t believe you didn’t win that one.”

Stone chewed her bottom lip, glanced quickly at Franky then focused back on Giulia. “Fine. But who does she, like, think is the prettiest?”

Giulia raised an eyebrow at Franky. Franky was glad Michael had warned her how ridiculous this would actually be. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have believed it. She threw herself into character with gusto. “No one,” she said quietly, reaching out to touch the other woman’s hand, but pulling back at the last minute, “no one compares to you, Miss Stone,” Franky finished, staring intently at the starlet’s profile as she slid the papers in front of her.

**********************************

“So did she proposition you?” Erica stood in her bedroom door, Jimmy Choos in one hand and a single rose in the other. She smiled shyly at Franky. She really liked coming home to Franky in her bed. She held out the rose. “And did you smack her? And who is she?”

Franky took a moment to catch her breath. Erica’s hair had come down a bit in loose curly wisps around her face and she was flushed from drinking. But still stunning. She stood up and took the offering from her girlfriend’s outstretched hand, inhaled the musky scent, then tossed it behind her on the bed before taking the blonde’s face in both hands and kissing her sweetly, reveling in the sensation of their tongues sliding together, Erica sucking at her greedily as Franky deepened the kiss and reached behind her to unzip the dress. She peeled it down her lover’s body slowly, pushing it off her hips and hearing it slip, finally to the floor.

She took a quick look down at Erica’s nearly naked body and moaned at the skimpy Moschino bra and knickers, also red, adorning that perfect body. “God, Erica. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Erica’s shoes thunked on the floor as she dropped them to wrap both arms around Franky’s neck, then her legs around Franky’s waist. She was aching with the need to feel her lover’s hands on her body. “Franky please,” she murmured against her neck, laying a fiery trail of kisses across the brunette’s shoulder. “It’s been forever…” _Okay, maybe only four days. But it feels like weeks._

Franky chuckled against Erica’s neck. Then bit her there, leaving a mark as she lay her down and let her full weight drop on top of the blonde. Erica moaned, rubbing herself against the brunette like a cat in heat. Franky could feel the dampness between her lover’s legs warming her boxers. She pulled out of the embrace momentarily, hushing Erica’s protest with two fingers and then stripped off her knickers and sleeveless. 

“Too many clothes,” she grinned, reaching for Erica’s panties, which the blonde happily surrendered as she removed her own bra, flinging it across the room.

Erica rolled on top of Franky, sitting astride her hips then leaning down to kiss her again as Franky raised a thigh between her legs. Erica pressed herself into it, reveling in the friction against her center. “So tell me,” she murmured against her lovers lips.

“Tell you what?” Franky turned the tables again, pushing Erica onto her back as she kissed her way down the attorney’s torso, stopping to lave hungry kisses across perky breasts leaving the blonde breathless and hopefully forgetful. Franky was extremely turned on and had missed Erica terribly. And she was exhausted having worked 14 - 15 hour days almost non-stop since starting at DeMedici Law. She figured she had about 30 minutes until she fell asleep and didn’t want to waste it talking. She made a swipe with her tongue across Erica’s clit, smiling at the growl emitted over her head; the fingers tangling in her hair.

“Shit, Franky.” Erica spread her legs wider, planting her feet on her lover’s back. “Who you met with tonight. Was she… unghhhhhhh.”

The only sounds Erica made for the next half hour were caused by Franky’s expert lovemaking. 

Forty-five minutes later, Erica held a soundly sleeping brunette in her arms, ruing that she had let Franky focus on her exclusively. Now the blonde would have to wait — probably until the next day — to reciprocate. Franky was clearly exhausted. Erica had been so caught up in jealous thoughts of who put her hands on her girlfriend, then completely undone by the onslaught of Franky’s tongue, that she had totally missed the condition Franky was in; the ashen smudges underneath her eyes. Had she lost weight too? Erica ran her fingers gently across the ribs in Franky’s back, wondering why she wasn’t eating enough. Was Michael really riding her that hard?

Erica pressed her lips to Franky’s forehead and smiled as the younger woman’s hand reflexively squeezed her bum in response. The prior month had transpired pretty much as Erica thought it would, Franky working very long hours and nearly every day at the firm. They hadn’t had dinner but a few of times and Franky had stayed over maybe twice over the past 30 days. She understood why it would be a bad idea for anyone at the firm to know she and Franky were a couple right away; but it made finding time together nearly impossible. If Erica could just drop by some of those late evenings… Bring Franky dinner or something… It had only been a month but it was hard. Erica missed Franky. Missed talking with her; watching television together; laughing together. 

And Franky hardly called. Erica felt like a teenager, constantly leaving messages that weren’t returned. Wondering where Franky was — knowing she was at work but still wondering who she was talking to. If Michael was hitting on her. If anyone else at the firm was trying to get into Franky’s pants. _Probably._

Although it was nearly two in the morning, Erica Davidson was wound up. She drummed her fingers against the doona as Franky slept bonelessly on top of her, then slid over slightly so she could reach her mobile on the side table. Disturbed by the movement, Franky rolled onto her back, her head turned away from her lover, one hand reaching for something on the other side of the bed while the other hand settled underneath brown locks, palming her own head. 

Erica speed dialed Michael.

“The fuck, Dave? Are you right? Where is Franky?”

“She’s asleep. She lasted 30 minutes. What are you doing to her over there? And who was she meeting with this evening?”

Michael yawned loudly, clearing her throat. “Giulia said Franky killed it with our client. I’m keeping her. She’s fantastic.”

“I never see her anymore! And she’s exhausted! And losing weight, Michael. Seriously?”

“Yeah, right.” Erica could hear her mate getting out of bed, moving around. “Look. Hazards of first year. You remember, yeah?”

“She’s MY first year too, Michael!”

“I know, Dave. And she’s brilliant. She’s left all the other first years in the dust; and half of the second years.” Erica heard a pop and a fizzy sound and knew her mate was opening a bottle of Perrier. 

“Anyone messing her about?” Erica desperately wanted to know what was happening in that office; how Franky was socializing. Was Michael protecting her or not? But they didn’t even have time to talk about that. To talk about anything with the pace of work deMedici demanded.

“Oh my god. I’m going back to sleep. Clear out a couple of drawers and some wardrobe space for her, right?"  _And stop bugging me. The girl is whipped over you. You're fine._

“Can you let up a little, Michael? Please?”

Michael sighed dramatically on the other end of the line. “No. But she can have Monday off. She really did kill it tonight. And if she tells you about it, I don’t want to know. Va bene. Sleep tight, Dave.” She rang off. 

Erica dropped her mobile on the side table and lay back down with a frustrated huff. She turned on her side and then scooted up against Franky, wrapping herself around her skinny girlfriend, pressing her head softly between ample breasts. Franky’s hand found it’s way into Erica’s hair and she smiled when they both let out simultaneous contented sighs. Erica looked up to see if Franky was awake but she slept blissfully on.

At least she could be assured that Franky actually did care for her. It would be hard to fake affection in sleep, and Franky was definitely dead to the world. In fact, Erica mused, there was nothing about Franky that was fake. The younger woman was brutally honest; and seemed to provoke the blonde to truth-telling as well.

Erica kissed the firm, tanned skin between Franky’s breasts, then kissed again a bit lower. God, she couldn’t believe she let Franky go to sleep without making love to her. She craved the flavor of Franky’s sex; had been without it for weeks. She peered down the even plane of the brunette’s belly toward the delectable morsel in question, rested her palm on the patch of wiry curls shielding that treasure. _I bet I could slip one finger down there and…_ Finger followed thought and the younger woman’s hand twitched in her hair. _Jesus — leave her alone, Erica! Let the girl sleep for a minute._

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing, give her body over to the sleep she knew she needed. Instead her thoughts turned to Wentworth. Franky’s brutal kiss. Her own capitulation. Then her rushed marriage to Mark. And now, barely three years later, she was lying naked in bed with her former charge.

As she breathed deeply of the scent of Franky, she had a visceral memory of that first kiss. The first time those demanding lips captured her own. She had hated herself for wanting that so badly. For not realizing how much she wanted it until she was in Franky’s arms. And she hated herself for losing control. Up until that moment, she had been a master orchestrator of everything and everyone in her life. Then the prisoner had chipped away at her carefully constructed persona during their ongoing tutoring sessions, getting completely under the older woman’s skin; finally deconstructing her psyche entirely in those short, devastating seconds of carnal pawing.

She considered their relationship now. It wasn’t scary in the way she had been afraid of Franky then. Of course, they weren’t at Wentworth anymore. But even when she had seen the younger woman in her classroom, the context immediately shifted the dynamic in Erica’s head and in her body. Plus, she’d still been relatively regularly in Michael deMedici’s bed. The prospect of dating a woman, being in a relationship with a woman — even an ex convict — held much less peril for her out here than the reality of submitting to a prisoner under her care. 

And it wasn’t until this very moment that she realized that she truly had been in love with Franky then. Her anguish over slotting the brunette; her surreptitious surveillance on CCTV; her inability to stay away from the beguiling woman; her provocation with the engagement ring. Jesus — she had deliberately wound Franky up. That entire time she had thought she was in control of their dynamic; she thought she was the master, Franky the student. In reality, she finally understood, Franky had laid an obvious trail of crumbs and Erica had snapped them up like a starving bird. And the younger woman continued to feed her soul in all the ways that were important.

Sex with Franky wasn’t just about satisfying her body. It was a transcendent dialogue that she felt she was finally beginning to reciprocate in kind. She thought about the music analogy the brunette had used their first time together. It still rang true. And even though Franky was clearly a master, Erica was becoming quite adept with her own instrument; in her ability to stimulate and satisfy her lover. And in her ability to direct Franky as a dom to Erica’s sub. The night before Franky started at deMedici, she had brought Erica a book and sat with Erica in her lap as she walked them through the basics of a BDSM relationship. Not commanding or demanding. Just explaining. Talking about each role, quietly pointing to sketches in the book. So many things had fallen into place for Erica that night. What she liked and didn’t like sexually and why. How in the world had she missed all of this before, she had wondered? She had been so excited about further exploring this BDSM dynamic with Franky. But they had run out of time when Franky started her 15-hour work days.

Erica squeezed her eyes closed, scrunching her brow in an effort to hold back tears as she tried not to cling to Franky for dear life, letting the wave of emotion wash over her. She was so completely in love with this woman; had never felt this way about anyone — even Michael. The last month had taught her some patience; but mostly it had brought back her fear. They’d only had a few blissful months together before that final weekend in Port Douglas; and now, Franky barely had time to eat let alone cultivate a personal relationship. Erica partly suspected that the other woman had already met someone at work. _I mean, really? Absolutely no time for us to be together — barely 5 nights over a month’s time? And wasn’t Bridget Westfall’s parole ending soon? Fuckall!_ And Michael was giving her _no_ information, brushing off her concerns as silly early relationship paranoia _._

Her breath hitched and she sat up, trying not to wake up her sleeping lover with histrionics. _Jesus I need to get a grip on myself._

“Erica…” Franky’s voice was low and thick with sleep. “Wha ‘sup?” Franky’s hand gripped her thigh. 

The blonde lay down quickly, pushing Franky onto her side and spooning her from behind. “Nothing, love. I’m a little wound up. Sorry. Go back to sleep,” she kissed the back of Franky’s ear as she smoothed the silky locks out of her lover's face. 

Franky exhaled loudly. “Dint last t’night. Sorry.” She snuggled herself tightly against Erica, pulling the older woman’s arms more securely around her. 

“Shhhh,” Erica soothed, kissing the bare shoulder under her chin. _I do love you. So much._

The brunette exhaled loudly again but had no further response. 

Franky was a bit taller than Erica and so the spoon actually worked better when Franky was in the back. But Erica liked this turning of tables; really enjoyed the sensation of the brunette’s bum tucked against her groin. Loved cradling the longer frame in her arms. She felt Franky’s heart beating against their intertwined hands and slowed her breathing, trying to get it to match her partner’s. And very quickly she found herself drowsing once again with her lover in her arms.

Until she heard a mobile vibrating, startling her awake. It buzzed again, this time on the other side of the bed. Franky’s. Who would be calling….? Erica remembered the last time Franky’s mobile had rung at some ungodly hour. It had been Bridget. Bridget in hospital after having been nearly killed by a car bomb. Erica thought about answering, but then didn’t want to wake Franky again, who hadn’t budged with the sound.She decided to let it go to voicemail. If it rang again, Erica would pick it up.

_Answering your girlfriends’ mobile? Cheeky, Erica. Very cheeky._ She’d never done that with Mark. She hadn’t really cared who was calling Mark, now that she thought about it. She damn well did want to know who was on the other end of Franky’s mobile.

The mobile went quiet. Then started buzzing a second time and she tried to extricate herself from Franky, who seemed to stubbornly cling to her in a way that Erica found completely adorable. She half sat with the brunette curled around her middle. “Hello,” she stage whispered.

“I shot her, Franky.”

_Fuck._ “It’s Erica, Bridget. Are you right?” She stroked Franky’s hair protectively.

“I… yes. Where is Franky?”

“She’s here. She’s completely knackered— it’s her first month with the new firm and she’s had consistent 15 hour days. What’s happened? Should I wake her?”

“Um… No. Everything is fine. There’s been another incident with Ferguson and I didn’t want her to get it from the telly before I talked to her.”

_She shot her? Who shot who?_ “Have you been hurt, Bridget?”

“No. Joan. I shot her.”

“Oh god! Where? Are you hurt? Should we come? I can wake her up…”

“No… no,” Bridget interrupted. “I’m fine. My house is a mess again. I’m going back to stay at Michael’s while this gets cleaned up. Again. I just didn’t want…”

“Of course. Of course. I’ll have her call round as soon as she’s awake.” Erica wondered _where_ Ferguson had been shot, not the location of the shooting. Was she dead? Or just injured? _Hopefully dead._

“Thank you. Okay.”

“Bridget,” Erica stretched inside her own character, thinking about what Franky would want as opposed to what she wanted. Which was to chuck Franky’s mobile out onto the beach, hoping it got sucked into the surf over night. “Do you want to come here?”

There was a long silence from the other end. Erica began to fear the other woman was going to say yes and then all three of them would be in this bed. Fully clothed. She closed her eyes and waited. 

“I’m sorry. We’ve arrived downtown. Cher’s looking after me. Thank you, Erica. I’ll be fine here. Just have Franky ring me when she can. Ta.”

Erica exhaled quietly, replacing the mobile on the night table and sliding back down to hold her lover. _Mine,_ she thought as she relaxed against Franky’s lithe frame. _You’re all mine._ Franky shifted, squeezing her bum as if in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break between updates. I hope to contribute more regularly until the end of this story. Thank you so much to those folks who have stayed with me for several stories now; and for new readers! Yay! 
> 
> I know this chapter is a bit all over the place -- I stayed away too long. Will get back in the groove now though, I promise. And I promise I did not crib any of Ferguson's final encounter here from the final episode of series 4! I wrote that part months ago!


	13. The Things You Do for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back and tried to clean up some of the distracting typos and continuity bits from the first 12 chapters, but nothing has changed dramatically back there, so no need to re-read unless you're just feeling masochistic. This chapter is entirely new and hopefully sans too many errors. Sorry this story has been so messy and hopefully I can be more focused from here on out.

Bridget stood in the window of one of the guest suites in Michael deMedici’s penthouse looking out over the city of Melbourne as the sun began to rise. The air conditioning chilled her overheated skin as she wrapped her arms around herself inside the silk robe offered as a guest amenity to the many people who passed through this space. It was much too big for her, the ends of it dragging along the carpet. She knew Cher was not asleep on the bed behind her, and wondered what she was doing. Or if she was even there at all anymore. But she didn’t turn to look. She focused on the dawning light outside the window instead.

She had possibly killed a woman last night. And made intense, passionate love to a woman young enough to be her daughter — or even granddaughter — afterward. What had she become? All this since falling for an inmate who used to be under her care. For which she had almost lost her career. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Tired of being put out of her home. Tired of probation. Tired of talking about Joan Ferguson. Tired of feeling so out of sorts. Tired of everything and everyone except her new young lover. And Franky — she missed Franky Doyle.

Phoning her ex a few hours ago and getting Erica Davidson on the other end was jarring. _Franky lets Erica answer her mobile?_ Bridget had been caught off guard by that. And saddened. Franky wasn’t one to want people touching her stuff unless explicitly invited. If Franky and Erica were that serious already… Maybe she’d never really had a chance with Franky Doyle at all. It was time to stop holding a torch. Time to let go. That thought had propelled her thoughtlessly into the eager young Cher’s arms. Her protector.

She swiped angrily at the wetness on her cheeks, trying to stifle the hitch of grief at this revelation. She’d had amazing sex with Cher and needed to be thoughtful about the follow-up conversation. She’d caught the young woman staring at her lustfully on a number of occasions and had found the stolen glances endearing and slightly amusing. But now that she had taken advantage of that crush; used the woman to block out thoughts of another… She would need to tread carefully. And need to stay honest. She still required both Michael and Cher in her life. At least they were concerned with and capable of keeping her safe. Franky was nowhere to be seen lately. It was time for Bridget to start looking out for herself and stop worrying about the ex prisoner. She was clearly doing just fine.

The psychologist took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and prepared to turn around and face a potentially awkward conversation with Cher in bed. But movement on the penthouse terrace below stopped her motion as she peered into the semi-light, trying to see what was happening. It was Michael in the lap pool. Bridget wondered how long she had been there. She turned toward the bed finally, but Cher was no longer there.

The psychologist sighed, wishing she could just go back to sleep but knowing she was far from it still. Instead, she made her way down to the veranda, holding folds of her robe up as she settled into a chaise near the lap pool. After about 15 minutes, Michael stopped swimming and boosted herself onto the tile next to Bridget’s seat.

“Sleep at all?” Michael stood, wrapped herself in a thick and luxurious towel then sat on a lounger, directing her attention at the psychologist as she continued to dry herself off.

“No,” Bridget said quietly. “Not a wink.” She tried not to stare at the smooth, perfectly proportioned, sculpted expanse of thigh and leg stretching out for miles. _She should be on the cover of Vogue. Why does she not model?_ She realized that there was an odd silence between them until Bridget looked up, blushing at Michael’s wry smile. Bridget was caught ogling again; this time the attorney’s legs.

Michael cleared her throat once she was sure the older woman had finally stopped gaping at her body. She didn't take it personally, really. Most people stared at her in her swim gear. “I was saying, I’ve got valium. And vodka,” Michael’s offer was serious. “And a masseuse.”

“Maybe the masseuse,” Bridget responded. She realized she sounded desolate. Possibly needy. And felt pathetic.

“I’ll have the housekeeper make everything available for you. She just needs about 12 hours notice.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

“I’m so sorry this is happening, Dr. Westfall.” Michael wrapped the towel around her torso and leaned forward earnestly, slightly into Bridget’s personal space.

“Please call me Bridget. And it’s not your…” Michael’s breath smelled faintly of fruit. Franky’s breath usually smelled of fruit. She wondered if Franky was still eating a lot of fruit. Always kissable. Sweet tasting.

“It is. On my watch.” The lanky brunette tapped Bridget’s knee then stood, rubbed her hair vigorously with the towel then wrapped it about her neck. “Cher was supposed to have you covered. No one fucks with my people. Not for long, anyway. I’ll sort it, Bridget. I swear.”

Bridget watched the tall woman stride away. She pulled out her mobile intending to texting Franky then realized she was likely still asleep. Ideally the text would not disturb her now and would be there when she did wake. Plus, it would probably annoy the hell out of Erica. The psychologist smiled wickedly and began tapping at the tiny keyboard.

Another auspicious marker for the past 24 hours passed as the clock chimed 5am: her probation was finished. And she was long overdue for some quality time with her young friend and ally.

*************************************

Michael was livid. Major clusterfuck again at Dr. Westfall’s residence. She shouldn’t have to question Cher’s capabilities at this point. And Cher should have had enough fucking sense to ask for back-up if she needed it. If she didn’t know she needed it, that was a problem. _What the hell is going on around here?_ First, David’s calling in the middle of the goddam night whining about her completely smitten girlfriend who is lying next to her naked and satisfied. _Now my ace is glitching! What the actual fuck, people? It’s not like I have real work to do. A law firm to run. Clients to represent. Jesus fucking christ when I get all this sorted I’m finding a hot fucking girl and spending ten days in Port Douglas._

She found her protege in the formal living room. Sitting quietly. Waiting for her. At least she hasn’t completely lost her mind, Michael mused darkly.

“What…” Michael started to speak, but then realized she needed to unclench her jaw in order to do that. Clearly the swim hadn’t quite taken the edge off as she’d hoped.

This mess with the Ferguson woman punched a lot of her buttons, the biggest one being it was all too close to David. Particularly if the woman started coming after Franky. But secondly, Bridget was under her protection. And Ferguson had come after her a second time. That psycho needed to be neutralized. It was personal now.

She took a deep breath, waggling her jaw a bit. “So,” she stopped in front of her usually hyper-competent hacker. “What happened?”

Cher stared at the floor. “My fault. I should have called you sooner.”

Michael stared at the top of Cher’s head. She had known this kid since she was barely ten years old. Cher didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. Unless… She crouched down in front of her protege, placing one finger gently under her chin. Lifting her face so they were eye to eye.

_Damn! Damndamndamnfuck, girl!_ "Awww! Seriously, Cher!" The younger woman pulled her face away angrily, focusing again on the floor.

“Right.” Michael blew out a frustrated sigh, her ire lessening quickly. “Look. Debrief with the security team and make sure everyone is on the same page. Dr. Westfall’s action was purely self defense. The bitch was straight out threatening our client; and there is a history of violent aggression between this criminal and my client. Right?” The younger woman nodded. “And make sure our guys do not end up splashed all over the front page. Even if you have to hack the newsies, yeah?” Cher nodded again. “Point the press to the cops or Tactical Response.”

Michael took a deep breath and stood up. The ‘what happened’ was written all over her young charge's face. And it wasn’t as if Michael had never fallen head-over-heels and gone stupid over a woman before. But Cher could benefit from her mentor’s mistakes; use that energy to be a fierce protector, not a bumbling idiot. And though she was a bit surprised by the pairing, the deMedici heiress was not one to judge. “She’s fine and we’ll clean up the rest of it. But if you can’t keep your head, you have to let me know. We can put Martinez on top of it while we change your job description to ‘Overheated May' Mingelow  assigned to Doctor 'December' Westfall.” She ruffled Cher’s hair affectionately, her anger had mostly dissolved when she realized her young charge had fallen in love.

The younger woman slapped at her hand angrily, standing up defensively but still staring at the floor. “She goes by Martin now.”

“Latino incognito. I heard. But she’s still Martinez to me. And she’s damn good at her job. Let her run point, Cher.” Michael grabbed her shoulder in support, unsurprised when her hand was shaken off huffily. The younger woman hated affectionate gestures. Hugs, kisses, pats, hair ruffling — all guaranteed to make the small woman tossed. Michael swallowed a chuckle as her mobile rang. It was her assistant from the firm. At 5am?

“DeMedici.”

“I am so sorry, Ms. deMedici, but I have Ms. Stone on the line and she insisting on Francesca Doyle’s mobile number. She sounds like she’s had quite a… fun evening.”

_Stumbling fucking pissed, you mean. What else?! Jesus!_ “Put her through.”

She watched Cher while talking Suzanne out of directly accosting her newest associate; assuring the starlet that she would absolutely sack Franky if she became involved with a high priority client like Miss Stone. But she assured the actress that Francesca Doyle could most likely be included in their next meeting. And the one after that.

Michael watched the hacker cross her arms petulantly as the attorney ended her call. Her mood had shifted decidedly. While listening to Suzanne Stone drone on she had sketched out in her mind a civil strategy to attack Ferguson’s estate. She would need to talk that through with the good Dr. Westfall. Then she was going to handle some personal business with the psycho herself. And now, potentially another fish to fry.

“I want you to unfreeze Ferguson’s cash flow — one account; not all,” she said quietly, almost as if she was imparting secret information, trying to redirect the young woman’s energy. It worked. Cher perked up and moved closer, brow creased but meeting her eyes eagerly. “Dig more deeply and find out where that money is coming from. There’s no way she has that income from working for the state. And if she didn’t inherit, where the hell is the source? And hand the security detail over to Martinez,” she watched with amusement as the smaller woman’s brow scrunched even tighter. “But stick close to the Doc — she’s used to you now.” The forehead went back to smooth, flawless, even skin. She wished she had time to further tease Cher for the pouting. And for being in love. Totally cute. “Then I need you to run down a new dossier for me. Stat.”

***********************************************

Erica sat in a large ward at Royal Melbourne Hospital holding Tansy Ferguson’s hand. She looked uneasily across the mass of beds; the other patients in various states of distress. It was a public ward. Tansy’s aunt and sole living relative, Joan Ferguson, was in a police-secured room in another part of the hospital. But she was Tansy’s only means of support and her assets had been mysteriously frozen, so the uni student was now a ward of the court.

The attorney sighed as she leaned back in the chair, maintaining her hold on the girl’s hand. It wasn’t technically true that she was the young woman’s lawyer as she had told the admitting staff. But she absolutely would represent her if the girl awakened and agreed to it. Erica actually did want to help her. After the horror stories she’d heard about Tansy’s aunt, the governor who had followed her own leadership at Wentworth — especially the attacks on Bridget Westfall and the implied threat to Franky — she was just as anxious as Franky to pull the girl into their fold. Away from Ferguson. And to understand if the girl could give them some insight into Ferguson’s lunacy.

Insight other than the not-so-helpful diagnosis from Dr. Westfall. Who said, ‘She’s textbook psychotic.’ _As if that will help us stop her._ She lightly traced the girl's heavy eyebrows — almost a unibrow, Erica mused — with her fingers. _Fucking Bridget._

Which reminded Erica of the argument that had landed her here in the hospital talking to the coma-girl instead of home in Franky’s arms right now. She sighed and replayed the events earlier in the day in her head.

_It was after noon before Erica heard Franky stirring in the bedroom. She had reluctantly disentangled herself from her lover around 9am, wide awake and no longer able to lay next to naked Franky without accosting her. She’d been round to the bakery to get some fresh pastry, made coffee, cut up mango, and eaten her portion of the breakfast by ten. She then went for a run on the beach and returned just before 11 to find her lover still fast asleep. She showered, cleared out two drawers and some wardrobe space for Franky, then resigned herself to reading on the lanai until her lover finally awakened._

_It was nearly half passed noon when she heard rustling and the door to her bedroom open. Then Franky’s voice._

_“Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure it out. Just got up though — give me a couple of hours?” Silence. Then, “Yeah. Love you too, Gidge.”_

_Erica bristled in her adirondack chair. She focused on the beach, the soothing rhythm of waves crashing; not the bubbling ire behind her eyes. Franky’s only fucking day off in a month and she starts it with Bridget. Not with me. Fucking BRIDGET!_

_Seconds later Franky was behind her on the lanai, sliding her hands down Erica’s shoulders, pulling her sunglasses off then palming one breast in each hand, leaning over and kissing her upside down. Gently on the lips at first, pulling back enough to let jade orbs absorb cerulean, then she went in deeper, pushing her tongue sloppily between her girfriend’s lips. Franky pulled Erica’s magazine from her and tossed it on the side table as she slid around to Erica’s front, straddling her lap and resting fully against the blonde’s chest. Franky had on her work button down, but unbuttoned. And nothing else. The brunette placed an elbow on either side of Erica’s head against the back of the chair as she leaned in for a lengthy, exploratory snog._

_Erica quickly forgot what she was angry about as she squeezed the tight bum in her lap giving herself wholly over into the kiss. Pleased when Franky backed away slightly and her look was ravenous._

_“I woke up. You weren’t there. I hate that…” She went in for another sloppy kiss._

_Erica chuckled against her lips. They’d discussed Erica’s possessiveness a little; Franky had teasingly likened her to Glenn Close in ‘Fatal Attraction.’ Which reminded Erica that she was supposed to be at least a little tossed at Franky for her girlfriend and ex-girlfriend prioritization order this morning. Clearly the younger woman already knew she’d done something to set Erica off and was distracting her._

_“Wait a minute,” Erica started, reluctantly pulling out of the kiss._

_Franky’s stomach rumbled loudly. She nibbled Erica’s ear. “What were you going to say?”_

_“Ummmm,” Erica was again distracted by the firm musculature under her fingers. The expanse of skin across Franky’s back, which she had not had the opportunity to explore last night. At all. “I got pastry and fruit. On the bench.” She inhaled sharply as Franky’s lips found a pulse point further down her neck and sucked there. Hard enough to leave a mark. “Franky!” She slid her hands up Franky’s ribs, pushing her back slightly. “Now I’ll need some ice when you go get your breakfast, please,” she said mustering as much sternness as she could. About as much as a a cranky bunny as she eyed full breasts hungrily. She watched her lover stand slowly. “How are you feeling?”_

_Franky stepped away from the chair and stretched obnoxiously erotically, watching Erica appreciate her display of full frontal nudity before making her way back into the kitchen. “Fantastic. I love your bed. Mine sucks. How long’s the coffee been on?”_

_“Since nine.” Erica pulled her sunglasses back on, both aroused and irritated now. “How is Dr. Westfall?” She barely hid the snark. She heard the microwave start up. A minute later it dinged off. A few seconds passed and Franky re-emerged onto the lanai pressing an ice cube against the mark on Erica's neck, which Erica took from her. She then settled herself onto the chair next to the blonde, placing her breakfast and coffee on the side table between them._

_Erica rubbed the ice across the angry red splotch on her neck hoping the ice would virtually erase it before she had to face the public. She watched Franky take an overly large bite of croissant._

_“She shot Joan Ferguson,” the younger woman said, her mouth full of pastry. “And she’s off probation.”_

_Erica fought the urge to pick up her magazine and feign indifference. Instead, she leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, rubbing the ice fervently against the hickey. “Is she right?”_

_“Ferguson or Gidge?”_

_“Dr. Westfall, Franky. Is Bridget all right?” Erica's tone was exasperated now. This day was going off the rails rather quickly. What would be a back-up plan, as surely Franky was now going to say she wanted to spend the day with Bridget? Fucking Bridget._

_Franky was quiet for so long that Erica finally turned her head toward the brunette, hoping the dark lenses masked her insecurity and dread and being abandoned on Franky’s first day off. No time for her because Franky wanted to spend time with her ex. Fucking Bridget._

_Franky was watching her, sipping her coffee. The fruit and pastry were gone. “Not so much. Ferguson is in intensive care at RMH.” She drew her knees up, placing her arms on them, continuing to drink her coffee. “I’d like to see her today, Erica.”_

_The blonde leaned forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then stood up. She was nauseous with hatred for the psychologist. And unclear as how to navigate this situation. FUCKING BRIDGET! “Of course you would. Fine.” Her voice was trembling as she vaulted out of her chair, stepping quickly back into the kitchen moving toward her bedroom; needing some space before she said something which would drive Franky away permanently. When she reached the wardrobe, Franky had caught up with her._

_“Come on, Erica! Please don’t do this. I haven’t spent any time with her in more than six months.”_

_Erica rifled through her dresses. “I said it was fine. Go be with Bridget.” She settled on a pale pink silk print, pulling it roughly from the rack and moved toward her bureau. She tossed the dress onto the bed and rifled through her knickers for matching hose. Thank god she happened to have a back-up plan, although her mother would be puzzled as to why she showed up to an event Erica had very rudely backed out of at the last minute earlier that morning._

_Franky’s tone was quiet where Erica expected her ire. “Wait. What are you doing?”_

_Erica passed her girlfriend on the way out of the wardrobe, careful not to look at her or touch her. Now she just wanted to get out of there before she made a humongous, crying fit of a mess with the brunette. She held on to the anger to get her through the next hopefully few short minutes before she would be on her way to her family. Comfort. They would understand why this situation might make her tossed. Why Franky was being completely, totally disrespectful and unfair._

_She threw a pair of pink knickers and bra onto the bed next to the dress, then peeled off her t-shirt. “Certainly not sitting here pining for you while you become reacquainted with your ex.” She shimmied out of her short skirt. “I called in sick to be with you today since I’ve hardly seen you all month. Mum is hosting a luncheon. I might as well spend the day with mum and Nic and the girls.” She huffed and strained against Franky, who had pounced on her and held her tightly to the bed, hovering on all fours over her. “Let me go!” She closed her eyes gritted her teeth to keep from saying anything stupid. Or crying. She stared up at Franky defiantly._

_And was stopped in her tirade, momentarily. Franky looked a bit contrite._

_“Can I come back and spend the night with you? I’ll cook. I only need a few hours to get back to my flat and get my work outfit for tomorrow. Then stop at the penthouse to see Gidge.”_

_The blonde gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed. Of course she wanted to see her girlfriend later. She wanted to see her always. Why didn’t Franky get that?_

Maybe because you haven’t told her, you nitwit.

_Erica took a deep, calming breath. Franky didn’t seem to be angry at her for acting out, despite the fact that she didn’t protest the back-up plan at all, or seem to want to change her plan to see FUCKING BRIDGET. Erica thought about just shortening that to FB now. Yep. FB. In spite of FB, Franky was planning to come back and spend the night with her, not FB._

_“Do whatever you want Franky.” Erica surprised herself at how calm and even her voice sounded now. She struggled out from under her girlfriend and stood up, pulling her dress and knickers from the bed and entering the ensuite, slamming the door. She took another deep breath.“I’ve emptied a couple of drawers and made room in the wardrobe if you want to leave some stuff here,” she knew her voice was muffled through the composite wood. “Stay more than one or two nights.”_

_Not getting a response, Erica stepped to the ensuite portal and pressed her ear against it. She could hear the other woman opening and closing drawers. And then silence. She pressed harder against the door wondering what the silence meant. Was she leaving? Had she already left? Then she felt the doorknob turn against her waist and sprang back to the bench, swiping up her eyeliner trying to keep her hand from shaking as she continued its application. A microsecond later a wild-eyed brunette stalked into the room radiating aggression. Erica flinched, taking a step away while pretending to ignore the display and continuing to apply her make-up, standing in front of the mirror in her pink bra and panties._

_Her breath caught as she watched Franky shrugging out of her shirt and then felt bare breasts pressed against her back. The brunette’s arms encircled her waist, pressing their bodies together firmly. It annoyed Erica that she was very aroused by Franky’s possessiveness but the reciprocal was not appreciated._

_Franky pressed a kiss to a pale shoulder and watched Erica’s reflection in the mirror. “I think you owe me at least three orgasms,” she said softly, pushing her nose into blonde tresses and inhaling deeply of Erica’s shampoo. Then she slid a small vibrator gently down toward her girlfriend’s clit._

_Erica frowned, grabbing Franky’s hand from descending any lower. She might be whipped, but she didn’t have to be a total pushover. Especially when Franky was abandoning her for FB. She reached again for the anger. “Stop it. You’re going to muss me. And I thought you had someplace else you’d rather be.” She pulled the dildo from her lover’s fingers, placed on the bench amidst her lipsticks and eyeshadows, and went back to putting on her make-up._

_She watched the brunette grinning at their reflection. Erica moued petulantly. Then watched, completely captivated, as Franky drew her hands slowly up to full breasts and pinched the nipples between thumb and forefinger. Hard._

_The pain from the contact shot immediately to the attorney’s groin and she dropped her eyeliner in shock, leaving a black smudge and spatter on the bench. “Ow! Goddamnit, Franky!” She spun, pushing against Franky’s shoulders. “Stop it!” She commanded._

_Franky laughed as she caught Erica’s wrists, trapping them behind her with one hand while pushing her hand up in blonde curls and yanking firmly as she devoured perfect lips, tongue, even stealing breath from her partner. She kissed and sucked hard down Erica’s bowed neck. Leaving marks. Making her way to a diamond chip of silk-covered nipple which she bit between her front teeth._

_Erica gasped and struggled, confused at the signals her body was sending to her brain. The pain felt good. Incredibly good. Franky dominating her was indescribably erotic and she felt the wetness seeping into her panties. When the brunette bit her other nipple and shoved a leg between hers, Erica cried out, leaning back against the bench and hiked her thigh up against Franky’s hip, inviting harder pressure against her now very wet center._

_The brunette left another trail of bruising kisses up Erica’s shoulders ending with a firm, deep kiss. She then let go Erica’s hands and slapped the lithe thigh from her hip, spinning them around so now Franky’s bum was against the ensuite bench, Erica’s hands grabbing frantically at brown locks as she sucked greedily at Franky’s tongue._

_Franky roughly pulled Erica’s hands from her hair, pushing them down to her sides. As she put her hands on the blonde’s shoulders, Erica reached for her again and a second time, the brunette pushed seeking hands away, down to slim hips. The blonde bristled at the commanding nature and opened her mouth to protest. But then her eyes met a jade storm. Franky quirked her head, a question there. Erica knew exactly what answer she was always going to give. She bowed her head in submission, relaxing under the firm grip on her shoulders, shaking with anticipation._

_She felt soft lips on her forehead. Lingering. And struggled against the urge to devour them. Then that voice sent a shiver up her spine._

_“Listen to me.” Erica nodded enthusiastically. “Down,” she pushed firmly on Erica’s shoulders._

_The blonde dropped immediately to her knees._

_“Good girl,” she whispered, smiling as Erica looked up at her eagerly. She chuckled. “You aren’t supposed to look at me unless I give you permission.”_

_“Okay,” she said continuing to stare into her lover’s eyes. She thrilled at the command, exploring her role as a submissive. And blushed, as Franky gently tangled her fingers in the tresses atop her head and directed her gaze down toward her feet. Erica found herself wanting to kiss those perfectly tanned feet. She knew, deep down in her gut, that FB did not share this with Franky. This would not be the type of relationship that psychologist would be in. But it was what Franky Doyle wanted. Therefore, Franky Doyle was_ hers.

_“Or talk. So just listen,” the brunette said, her voice loud and firm.She lifted one leg to place her thigh on Erica’s shoulder, tightening her hold in the hair atop the blonde’s head and guiding her mouth to her aching clit. Erica’s tongue shot out as she wrapped her arms around Franky’s legs. The brunette hissed with pleasure at the first contact. “You listening to me?”_

_“Mmmm hmmmm,” Erica hummed against Franky’s sex. She’d been dreaming about going down on Franky only a few hours ago. Literally. It’d been nearly two weeks since she’d been able to touch her girlfriend this way. She gently coaxed the engorged flesh fully into her mouth, smiling when Franky bucked against her._

_“Shit.” Erica heard Franky’s grumble, chanced taking a quick glance up pleased to see that the brunette was losing herself into a haze of desire._

Mine.

_Franky pulled Erica’s mouth from her. “Listen.” Erica kept her eyes focused on Franky’s sex until the brunette used the leverage of the hand tangled in blond locks to tilt her head back, forcing eye contact. "Go visit Tansy. We need her on our side, right?”_

_Erica nodded in agreement, not at all registering what her lover was saying. She just wanted that clit in her mouth. To push her tongue and fingers inside…_

_Her mouth formed a perfect “oh” and her eyes widened almost comically as she watched Franky’s own middle finger slide into herself as far as it would go. Then she pulled the glistening digit out, offering it the blonde by pressing it firmly against her bottom lip. She grabbed Franky’s wrist, securing the hand to her mouth while she sucked hungrily, until her head was forced upwards again. Blue eyes connecting to green._

_“No hands.” Erica immediately let go of Franky’s wrist. “Go visit Ferguson’s niece. I’ll have dinner ready here around half past seven. Then a surprise for you, yeah?” Franky had to yank her finger from Erica’s mouth with a pop._

_Erica didn’t take the time to wonder at the odd instruction to visit the bedridden niece of the ex-governor, but nodded enthusiastically. Inordinately pleased when rewarded with Franky’s million watt smile as she was guided back to finish her ministrations on her lover’s sex._

Erica sat up straight in the hospital chair flushing bright red, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed her private interlude. She licked her lips and crossed her legs against the pressure building there from revisiting her earlier lovemaking to Franky. She checked her watch and stood up quickly. It was nearly 7:00pm.

She leaned over the young woman, kissing her forehead. “Please wake up, Tansy. We need your help. And we want to help you. So badly,” she whispered, smoothing the girl’s hair back. “I know you’re in there. And Franky is trusting me to figure out how to help you. How to help you help us.”

There was absolutely no movement from the girl.

Erica sighed and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll be back when I can,” she said close to the young woman’s ear. And left.

**************************************

Cher stood in Michael deMedici’s office. She preferred to meet Michael at home — anywhere but in that office with all those smug barristers looking down their noses at her. But this information was too important to wait; and too sensitive to send electronically. She’d marked the particular page with the most incendiary reveal and watched Michael’s face. She saw the eyebrow go up. Then the hard blink.

Michael deMedici put the dossier on Suzanne Stone flat on her desk and steepled the fingers of one hand on top of it. Then lifted her eyes to her protege. “You’re absolutely certain of this.”

Cher nodded. Michael’s purple irises were glacial. The younger woman knew that look. It was bad news. Cher hated that look. It meant she was going to have to do something very, very unpleasant to someone.

Michael stood quickly and turned away from the younger woman, staring out at the Melbourne skyline for several minutes. Then turned back slowly. “Go to the penthouse. I want you with the Doc 24-7. Do. Not. Let. Her. Out. Of. Your. Sight.”

Cher blinked in surprise. This was different. But this was not the time to question. She wondered if she’d done something wrong; usually this was where Michael sent her to get supplies, which would indicate how messy the unpleasantness was going to get. But was she being put on babysitting duty, she wondered as she made her way toward the penthouse elevator at the back of the partner offices? Back to the home on top of deMedici Law where Bridget Westfall remained ensconced. And if she was on Bridget-sitting duty, who had taken her place as problem-solver in Michael’s life?


	14. The Words You Don't Say

They didn’t get any dinner.

When Erica entered just shy of half past seven, Franky was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on something that smelled fresh and garlicky. Franky faced her across the range situated in the kitchen island, sautéing bitter greens. Her arms were bare but she had an apron on so Erica could see black straps under the white apron but nothing else. Then Franky came round the bench with the pan of greens to plate them next to the risotto and fluffy white fish _halibut?_ already on the dining table. As Franky approached her with the hot pan and kissed her sweetly in greeting, Erica noticed that her girlfriend was wearing leather pants. Very sexy leather pants.

As she started to relate the non-adventure of watching Tansy lying in a coma for nearly an hour, she caught a glimpse of the back of Franky’s outfit as she sauntered back to the island. The blonde let out a strangled whimper forgetting, mid sentence, how to form words. Those weren’t just leather pants. They were leather chaps. And the brunette had _nothing_ on beneath them. 

Erica literally swooned, stumbling backwards until her back met the wall which she leaned against for support, gasping for breath.  _Surprise my arse, Franky Doyle! Trying to kill me already?_

Franky set the fry pan down on the burner and looked up, realizing Erica had gone mysteriously silent. She was immediately alarmed at the pasty complexion and the dazed expression on her girlfriend’s face. Rushing to her, she grabbed her by the upper arms helping to support the smaller woman’s weight upright.

“Hey, Love,” she searched the blonde’s face earnestly. “What happened? Come on, sit down,” she led her gently to the couch. She caressed small circles in the middle of Erica’s upper back. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Erica stared at her open mouthed for several seconds. Then pulled tentatively at Franky’s smock. “What… Where…” She met jade eyes beseeching. _Help me out here, Dammit! You just robbed me of speech!_

Franky looked down at her apron, brow creased for a moment, then looked up slowly as a grin teased her lips. She reached behind her, untying the smock and tossing it lightly across the arm of the couch. Her teeth flashed as the million-watt grin appeared while she leaned in to her girlfriend, kissing her soundly on the lips. “Like my outfit, aye?”

Franky could have sworn the irises of Erica’s eyes actually darkened from a mediterranean blue to nearly midnight as she pushed Franky onto her back, straddled her hips, and crashed their mouths together, the delicate pink silk dress she’d meant to wear to a luncheon today riding up her thighs obscenely, revealing scant bikini’s underneath. She thrust her tongue against Franky’s hungrily as she reached down to unfasten her lover’s chaps.

Franky could have let it go. Erica was so fucking sexy when she was aggressive. And they would definitely have fantastic sex — dinner could wait. She did let herself go for a moment, immersed in the taste of Erica on her tongue. _Honey_. The feel of her crotch starting a slow grind atop her thigh. Her excited fingering of Franky’s black leather bra. Erica’s responses to their sexuality together were just so _pure._ Eager. Hungry. Unbridled. It would be easy to continue to answer Erica’s spontaneous needs.

But Franky had decided it was time to bring some discipline to their relationship. Time for Erica to understand her role. The jealous sniping about Bridget had to stop. It was a waste of time. And plus, Franky had a very good feeling that Erica had submissive powers unlike anyone she’d ever been with before. And she was sure the blonde was past due to unleash them. Franky was ready for truly unadulterated, unfiltered Erica Davidson. And she suspected the blonde was ready for it too, even though she probably didn’t realize it.

Reluctantly, Franky pushed her lover upright and ended the kiss.

“Why are we stopping?” Erica leaned back in. When Franky backed away accordingly, she slid her hands down caressing the buttery leather across her lover’s hips. “Franky….” she whined.

Franky chuckled and slipped out from under Erica to stand before her. “Because,” she put two fingers against Erica’s lips to stop the protest. Erica pouted underneath those fingers like a puppy robbed of it’s favorite chew toy. Now Franky was laughing. “Stop it! Okay! We need to get serious here. This is where we start to play master and servant.” She cocked her head, watching her lover while she stepped back a few paces, resting her hands on her hips. 

It only took a few seconds for the haze to disappear from Erica’s eyes, replaced with an eager, watchful leer. She nodded her head, pressed her knees together and folded her hands in her lap. “Do I get a leather bra and chaps too?” 

Franky swallowed her laughter, chewing on her bottom lip; trying to stay in character. _This is going to be soooo fun._ “Uh, no, Miss Davidson. And remember earlier? When I told you you don’t get to look at me without permission?”

Erica nodded slowly.

“That goes for talking too.”

Erica opened her mouth to respond but then realized what she was about to do and clamped her lips closed. She grinned at Franky mischievously, sucking her own bottom lip in response, and finally looked down toward her feet.

“Good girl,” Franky said in a low voice. She approached the blonde and stood inches from those perfect knees. “When I wear leather, we are in character. Any leather anything. Even this leather wrist band — see it?” She pushed her wrist into Erica’s line of vision. “Even if I _only_ have this bit of leather, we are in character. Anything you are wearing at any time is sub-wear. We’ll find you some special…” she traced her finger slowly along the blonde’s jaw. “…gear. But you’re fair game any time I choose. Understand?”

Erica nodded.

“Good. Go into your bedroom and take off everything — including jewelry — except your bra and knickers. Then wait for me.” She backed away to give the other woman room to get up and move. She was pleased that Erica moved quickly and refrained from looking back at her.

_Bet she’s not thinking right now about how I just came from Gidge._ Franky did understand Erica’s earlier frustration, actually. She had been dismayed herself to realize that her ex-girlfriend happened to come off probation today of all days. Her first day off in a month. The day she’d planned to spend entirely naked in bed with her current girlfriend. But it wasn’t as if she was going to tell Gidge, who had just shot Joan fucking Ferguson the day before, that she didn’t have time to see her. She did. She’d missed her friend and confidant. But the situation had clarified for Franky the need to commit to the BDSM energy that was lurking at the edges of all of her sexual encounters with Erica. They both needed the stability — Erica the discipline, Franky the control — if their relationship was going to hold; move forward. Frequent hot fucking was only going to last so long. It was time to give it structure.

Franky moved back into the kitchen to stow the food for the time being as she continued to muse. And to give Erica time to situate herself. Franky Doyle knew that she was ready to move forward with this relationship. That she was serious about Erica Davidson. That if she ever had the chance to keep her, she would do anything to make it happen. She’d known since that moment in Wentworth when Erica had accused her of tipping off the media. She’d counter-accused the governor of stirring up things against her with Red. _Do you think I would do that to you,_ Erica had asked, throwing Franky's own words back at her?

Franky remembered the actual pain, the physical ache in her chest when she’d heard those words. Seen the emotion in Erica’s eyes. The tears. She knew at that moment that Erica Davidson had her heart.

What she hadn’t understood at the time, was that being a Dom didn’t necessarily mean one had to be violent or cause fear in the controlling. That if she’d had a better understanding of their dynamic and her own anger and abandonment issues, she’d never have needed to force a kiss from Miss Davidson. But after her work with Gidge on her issues; and her experience with delayed gratification and teasing Erica over the past year and a half of law school, Franky had realized that there was a much more complex and potentially gratifying dimension to their sexual energy. To their compatibility.And the first time they’d had sex, Franky was sure it was the best sex of their lives. When Erica lay trembling in her arms not even realizing she’d ejaculated and Franky had known _exactly_ how to make that happen even though she’d never touched her before, she was sure of them. Together.

It was a little frightening, she had to admit. Both the power and the vulnerability. She knew Erica cared deeply for her. She knew they were perfect together. But Erica didn’t yet understand that. And Franky wasn’t sure if she would. If she really wanted to. If this wasn’t still some straight girl walk-on-the-wild-side experiment and that if she got too skittish or scared, she would run back into the arms of that wanker. Or a new one.

Nothing Franky had experienced so far told her that. In fact, everything about her interaction with Erica since they’d found each other at uni screamed of deep, abiding, true love. That Erica was as whipped as Franky. But the brunette wanted more. She wanted to hear Erica say it. She needed to experience Erica staying. The way she’d left before still smarted. Bottom line, Franky didn’t quite trust her.

And she didn’t know if Erica trusted the ex-prisoner to keep her safe. It wasn’t just that Franky had forced herself on the governor; she had put her in a completely untenable position: stay and be compromised — completely controlled by someone under her care; or go immediately and keep Franky safe. That was the most honorable choice, Franky had finally realized. Because it would have been Franky who’d borne the brunt of the backlash if they’d been found out; and they most certainly would have, as brash and self-sabotaging as the brunette had been back then. Franky would likely still be in prison; in a different facility. Without Erica. And with a longer sentence.

Not out here with a law degree and employment at the best firm in town about to make love to her gorgeous girlfriend in a posh beach-front flat in St. Kilda.

Franky took her time putting away food and washing pots. It was good for Erica to wait. Anticipate. Could Erica really trust her? It was time to start finding out.

She strode into the bedroom, infinitely pleased to see the blonde kneeling on the bed in her bra and knickers, hands folded neatly in her lap. Just as Franky had instructed. 

She approached and stood in front of her quietly for several minutes, waiting to see if Erica would break character. Satisfied when she didn’t, Franky pulled Erica’s hands apart, interlacing their fingers. She pulled the other woman’s hands to her mouth and kissed her knuckles, then sucked one index finger between her lips, rolling her tongue around it. She stopped when she saw Erica’s breath hitch.The blonde still hadn’t looked at her.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Miss Davidson,” she watched Erica closely, seeing her shoulders stiffen. “You’re little hissy fit this afternoon about me visiting my mate. Wasn’t very attractive. Was it?”

A little more straightening of the spine. Franky grinned. She would smack it out of her soon. Erica didn’t respond. “Answer me.” 

“No,” Erica said quietly. 

“No what?”

“No _Mistress._ ” She couldn’t quite mask the petulance.

“And now dinner is ruined. Because of your bad behavior. It’s time you learned your role.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Look at me!” 

Erica’s eyes startled up at Franky’s harsh tone, though her expression was defiant, molars clamped tightly, lips pursed. 

_So fucking sexy. Bad kitty!_ Franky desperately wanted to kiss that pout from her mouth, but wanted to see Erica squirm a little first. “What I should have done with you earlier was cuff you to the bed. Naked. And left you there until I was ready to return. Then fucked that pout right off your face.”

One blonde eyebrow arched high, the jaw going a bit slack. Franky watched the video play behind blue eyes. The corners of Erica’s mouth turned up slightly and she blushed but maintained the still-defiant eye contact.

Franky grinned and turned her back, striding purposefully to the bureau opening one of the drawers Erica had cleared for her. “Come here,” she commanded.

The brunette was actually quite pleased that Erica had created some space for her belongings. The reality was that the St. Kilda flat was barely 15 minutes by metro from deMedici Law where her own flat was out in the suburbs; nearly an hour commute. Plus she would get to see a lot more of her gorgeous girlfriend’s delicious body. And if she was honest, she wasn’t opposed to a test run on living together. She was nuts about Erica Davidson. And had a really good feeling that their already very satisfying sex life was about to get a whole lot better. She hoped it had the added benefit of chilling out the blonde’s possessiveness, which was annoying as shit.

The younger attorney felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up before she actually smelled Erica’s perfume — something citrusy with a hint of spice. The scent of her drove Franky wild. Then she felt the warmth of her at her side. A ripple of anticipation up her spine nearly made her shiver. She looked at Erica who was looking down into her drawer, eyes widening.

Franky stepped back behind the blonde, placing her hands on slender hips. “You get to choose two toys. Just two, Miss Davidson,” she nipped at a svelte neck, then pressed her leather-clad breasts against Erica’s back and watched from over her shoulder as she excitedly rummaged through the drawer. She picked up item after item, discarding each quickly, until she had perused the entire collection. Then she rested her hands on the edge of the drawer and considered.

The brunette squeezed her girlfriend a bit tighter, pressing her groin firmly against Erica’s perfect bum. “The longer you make me wait, the longer I’ll have to punish you.” Her voice was taut, commanding. Then to her dismay, she felt laughter rumbling in Erica’s belly. 

The shorter woman turned in her arms, completely breaking character. All of her stung ego and defiant mouing had dissipated. Her smile was bright as she leaned in, lips slightly parted. “That’s hardly a disincentive, Love.”

Franky reared back, astonished. “Sweet baby jesus, Erica!” She spun the woman around, holding her firmly about the middle again. “You have to take this seriously or it doesn’t work, right?” Erica’s head fell back against Franky’s shoulder. She was still laughing. _What is it going to take to get her attention tonight?_

“Okay! I get it, Franky. It’s just… owwwww FUCK!” 

Franky had a vice-like pincer grip on each of Erica’s nipples. “Shut up and get your toys,” she didn’t let go. Erica whimpered from between clenched teeth and panted, her knees starting to buckle. Her head fell forward and she braced one hand on top of the bureau while the other searched frantically through the drawer, quickly pulling out two objects and placing them on top of the flat surface. She stayed there, catching her breath as her flesh was freed.

Franky stepped back, taking in her girlfriend’s much less jaunty frame. She put her hands firmly on the blonde’s hips and swiftly slid her knickers down to her ankles, helping her to step out of them. Satisfied when Erica stayed still braced against the dresser. Franky stood behind her and traced fingers down her girlfriend’s spine, from her nape to the top of her buttocks. Then she pushed her cupped hand across her sex from the back, inordinately pleased with the wet heat she found there. 

The brunette smiled when Erica widened her stance, giving Franky easier access to her wetness. _Focused now, are we?_ She spread outer lips with her fingers and rubbed through the more intimate flesh, smearing the emission as she gently stimulated the blonde’s clit. Franky felt a surge of pride as she watched Erica bite her bottom lip but remain silent, eyes tightly closed, her face a study in concentration. She slipped two fingers in, stroking slowly. Her grin widened when Erica began moving against her hand, seeking more urgent attention. _Oh yeah. Easy, girl._ She braced her hip against Erica’s and put her free hand flat on the small of her back, stilling her other hand. Erica immediately stopped moving.

“Good girl,” she whispered and resumed her slow fucking of her girlfriend’s pussy. 

The blonde widened her stance a bit further and put her head completely down on the bureau, lacing her hands behind her neck.

Franky watched her face, thrilling at the frustration she saw building there incredibly gratified to see Erica not breaking character, not forcing anything, not trying to take what she wanted. Truly submitting.And increased the speed and force of her fingers moving in and out, teasing her lover’s clit every stroke.

Erica grunted and whimpered.

Franky remained impressed. She pressed her hand flat against the small of Erica’s back for leverage and began to pound in and out with the other, adding a third finger. Erica quickly went over the edge, muttering, “Oh fuck…” as her thighs quivered uncontrollably. 

Franky pulled out gently and helped her lover stand upright. She squeezed a firm arse-cheek and kissed her gently on the ear. “Go to the bed and lay on your stomach,” she said. Franky turned back to the drawer and pulled two more items out of it, closed it, then moved toward the bed with the cuffs and paddle Erica had selected.

She tossed the first implement toward Erica’s head. “Cuff yourself,” she commanded. She placed her own selections strategically around her girlfriend on the bed, then grasped the paddle, spinning it in one hand then the other. “On your knees.” Erica moved quickly. Without warning, using no small amount of force, Franky smacked the blonde’s arse. After the predictable hiss of surprise and pain, Franky quickly moved to the other cheek, then back again. 

She moved around front to check her sub’s facial expression and body tension. Erica was breathing hard, her face flushed. Franky glanced down at the fresh wetness coating Erica’s upper thighs and licked her lips as she reached for one of her selected items, lying near Erica’s knees on the doona. She carefully placed the nipple clamps, noting the slight grimace as the pressure stayed. She was obviously already sensitive, maybe even sore, from the earlier twisting pinch treatment. 

Erica’s tongue came out and wet her upper lip, swallowing loudly when Franky tugged on the chain connecting the tiny jaws of terror.

Franky’s stomach flipped as she realized just how _much_ Erica was enjoying even this early stage of their play. How smoothly and easily, once she’d got her attention, Erica assumed her role. With other subs, the trial and error period took weeks. Erica was already focused and obedient, anticipating her commands and _loving_ it. Franky narrowed her eyes. _Fuck. Maybe it’s time to meet the family._

This was actually an important moment, another true first time for them where they had come together with such ease and synergy that Franky was slightly taken aback. She quickly replayed their _last_ first sex; Erica’s sobbing freak-out afterward. For a moment Franky considered stopping the action and checking in. Making sure Erica was alright. But she didn’t want to go back. Get stuck. Manically checking every move, every emotion to make sure they were on the same page. Being careful, yes. But not paranoid. That was what was so beautiful about her and Erica early on; the ease with which they came together. The natural chemistry. The mutual push, pull; demolishing boundaries; enjoying the play. And, at least at Wentworth, trust. She needed to start trusting Erica again if she expected Erica to return the sentiment. 

She moved back into position behind the panting blonde and began to spank her in earnest.

*********************

Erica lay in Franky’s arms, blinking into the moonlit darkness. She had fallen asleep after their very… energetic… lovemaking. Erica’s first true experience with dominance and submission. She and Michael had played with toys and had plenty of rough sex. But Erica had never felt so thoroughly satisfied as she did tonight after playing submissive to Franky’s dominant. Master and Servant, the brunette had called it.

When Franky had first talked her through it, it seemed titillating; but she couldn’t quite imagine herself being so willingly subservient. Taking commands, keeping her head down, doing only what she was told when she was told to do it. She’d spent her entire life commanding attention and respect. At Franky’s first few barked commands, then the painful punishment for disobedience, Erica had been angry and humiliated. It had sounded kind of sexy in theory and in the book; but the reality had initially pissed her off.

Yet Franky controlling her had also thrilled her. The younger woman’s confidence and, honestly, skill in delivering the right amount of pain at the right time, left Erica completely breathless and wanting more. Her orgasms were more intense. The spanking — Michael hadn’t been that interested in it and had never really warmed up to it. She had never quite been able to give Erica what she needed; not long enough or hard enough. But what Franky had done to her tonight… She shuddered with visceral recall. There were so many things in that drawer Erica had always wanted to try; and it seemed that Franky was a highly skilled deliverer of pain and pleasure.

Long, strong fingers with short, manicured nails scratched her scalp lightly; then she felt soft lips press against her forehead.

“You right, Love?” Franky whispered.

Erica nodded against Franky’s breast, where her cheek was comfortably pressed.

Franky’s other hand slid down to grip the back of the blonde’s thigh, tugging at it slightly. She nuzzled blonde locks. 

Erica realized Franky was seeking eye contact. She slid up the firm belly, straddling the brunette’s waist and placing her forearms on either side of Franky’s head. She pressed their foreheads together and stared in to jade irises turned to pools of black ink in the moonlight. “I’m good, Franky,” she murmured, pressing her smile against her lover’s. Reveling in the gentling, calm touch, a heady contrast to the hard, fast, pounding lovemaking they’d shared over the last couple of hours.

She nibbled Franky’s bottom lip, then brushed her tongue against perfect teeth as she continued the easy exploration, breathing deeply as she finally dove in completely, relishing the slow slide of tongues inside her mouth. Franky squeezed her hips then toyed with the sheet, which lay pooled just beneath her reddened, still stinging bum. It hurt for even the thin cotton to rest against it.

“You survived, then,” Franky whispered against her lips, now running her fingertips lightly Erica’s sides; hesitating briefly on the soft curve of breasts, then back down again.

Erica laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh I didn't just survive. I’m thriving, Baby. You keep that up and you might be stuck with me for good.” She buried her face in Franky’s neck, suddenly afraid she’d said too much. She’d felt so full and confident after such incredible sex. Both satisfied and content. Obviously they were made for each other. But did she need to shove it in Franky’s face right now? She inhaled deeply of Franky’s unique mix of sandalwood and… Franky. 

Franky kissed her forehead again and moved from beneath Erica. “I’m going to get some aloe. That,” she indicated her head toward the blonde’s arse, “is gonna hurt less tomorrow, but still may be a little tender for clothing unless we put something on it.”

_Fuck! Fuck!_ Erica crossed her arms above her head and face planted into the mattress. _Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut? Idiot!_

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed before Franky was kneeling on the bed beside her. And then it happened again. The intensity of opposite sensations happening simultaneously; pain and pleasure; this time, the stinging pain of contact with super-sensitive skin and the cooling balm of aloe gel spread across it, extinguishing the fire. Erica groaned.

Franky chuckled and continued to administer the salve, leaning down to press a kiss to her girlfriend’s shoulder. “We are magical together. You know that, right?”

Erica pulled her face from the mattress and turned to face Franky, peering at her in the darkness. Her heart skittered.

“I can’t believe we got that far our first time out. Not a single miscue.” Franky was staring at Erica’s arse. Her own ministrations to her girlfriend’s perfect arse.

“Miscue?” Erica pulled herself up on her elbows so she could see Franky’s face. She was rapt.

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know. You’re really good at communicating what you want and what your limits are. Without words.”

Erica pondered that. She had no recollection of doing any such thing. She just followed where Franky led her. “Maybe you’re just good at reading my body.”

“Well duh,” Franky said, continuing to massage lotion into her bum. “But it’s more than that. It’s like when we are alone, your filters come off. And when we’re alone naked… you’re so fucking honest, Erica.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the small of the blonde’s back. “Unfiltered Erica is very,” she kissed her again, a little higher on her back this time, “very hard to resist.”

The brunette placed the small bottle of lotion on the side table, then slid back under her lover.

Erica smiled down at Franky, confidence returning in spades. “Hard to resist, eh?”

Franky stifled a yawn. Erica could feel the blush even though it was too dark to see the mottling of skin. She laughed. Franky tangled her fingers in blonde locks close to the scalp and pulled Erica in for a scorching kiss. “Don’t get used to it.” She tucked her girlfriend under her chin and held her tightly. “I am sooo keeping you though, Miss Davidson.” She yawned again. “Sorry,” she chuckled. “I think I’m done for the night.”

Erica could already feel the body underneath hers slowing down, the limbs growing heavy and unresponsive. And was tickled to realize she knew, from personal experience, that Franky was already half asleep. The relentless pace of a first year associate — at deMedici no less — was well known to Erica. It was barely 10pm, but she couldn’t begrudge her girlfriend a first night of good sex then good sleep in more than a month. She turned her head up to kiss a collarbone, then relaxed again. “Good night, Love,” she said quietly. _I love you. God I love you._

She listened to the slow even breathing that signaled Franky was well on her way to la-la-land.

“Probly shud… family din’r… extime…” She heard Franky mumble.

The cool night air combined with the aloe had already shifted her bum temperature she realized as she slid one hand underneath Franky, squeezing possessively. _I heard that. Probably should come to family dinner next time. I heard that Franky Doyle._ Her smile split the night as she felt a responding squeeze of Franky’s hand on the back of her thigh. _Mine._

_**********************************_

Bridget sat on the lounge in her suite at the deMedici penthouse, a wineglass in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Cher Mingelow sat next to her sporting a bottle of beer and her usual neck to wrist to ankle clothing.

“I wanted you to see the extent of the damage and to understand the repairs required, before they got started. Michael wants steel reinforced stucco in the remodel and bulletproof glass on all windows. She recommends adding a sauna and a wine closet here, next to the back bathroom near the kitchen.”

“That has nothing to do with the work area, Cher.”

The girl took a pull from her beer. “I know. Your choice.”

Bridget took a sip from her wine as she continued to review the documents. Cher was still a woman of very few words but the silences weren’t awkward between them. The doctor had become accustomed to it. Rather liked it. No unnecessary filler. It was clean and refreshing.

Bridget was uncomfortable with Michael deMedici picking up the costs for the scope of repairs, let alone the additions. Although she knew the other woman wouldn’t likely even notice the costs relative to her daily cash expenditures. And insurance would reimburse for the costs to repair the damage. What Michael was recommending was a significant upgrade plus additions; all of which would nearly double the value of and instantly increase the equity in her home. It felt too good to be true. Yet it would be _nice_ to have a sauna. Really fucking nice. 

She sighed heavily. “About the cost…” She looked up to see Cher shaking her head. “Fuck. Fine,” she tossed the papers into Cher’s lap and took a gulp of her wine. She watched the young woman place the papers on the coffee table adjacent the lounge and then lean back. Watching her. 

The corner of Cher’s mouth twitched. 

“What is it?” Bridget asked. 

She licked her lips. “Ferguson. She came in like a wrecking ball, aye?”

The mouth full of wine Bridget had just sucked in came out again in a fine spray, across the lounge and Cher’s lap. She struggled to put the glass down before she spilled it and she continued to laugh hysterically, trying to mop up the couch and Cher’s thighs with the bottom of her sarong. She failed miserably because of the convulsive laughter still bubbling up in her belly. She finally gave up and slid to the floor, hiccoughing as the giggles finally became manageable.

“I can’t believe you made a joke, Cher,” Bridget rasped. “How long have you been holding on to that one?”

And then she almost choked again as that smile appeared, slow, hesitant, shy. The young woman’s smile, in Bridget’s mind, was nothing short of a work of art. It so rarely appeared, but when it did it was bright; full of perfect, pearly teeth. It completely transformed her face from a scowling miscreant to the lovely young woman she really was. It was like dawn after the worst dark stormy night you could ever remember. The blonde held her breath as she smiled back.

“Dunno,” Cher mumbled, pulling on her beer again.

The psychologist let her eyes linger over the girl’s frame, the boyish figure. The sculpted legs, which were hard and sinewy under the doctor’s fingers; wrapped around her waist. Her skin was softer than velvet. And Cher, mysteriously, had no body hair whatsoever. Bridget eyed the sling holding the young woman’s left arm immobile as her own body was suffused with heat. They hadn’t been intimate for several days. Since Ferguson interrupted her life again. Destroyed her home again. This time almost mowing down her young lover. 

She moved to her knees next to Cher and pressed her hand to the young woman’s cheek, drawing her thumb along that smiling lower lip. Only to see the smile fade as the face pulled away from her and Cher stood. Bridget felt like someone had turned off the lights in the room, even though it was early evening and still bright daylight. She watched Cher finish off her beer, then pick up Bridget’s wine glass.

“You want a refill?” She was already moving toward the fully stocked mini-bar in Bridget’s room. Maia had surreptitiously filled it with Bridget’s favorite wine, Cher’s favorite beer, and some nutritious snacks.

They psychologist intercepted her and pulled the items gently from her functioning hand. “Sit. I’ll get it. You hungry? We didn’t have dinner.” Upon getting no response, she returned to sit near her young lover, one leg tucked under her, facing the now brooding girl. And waited.

“She was here today. To see you.”

Bridget nodded slowly. Watching the younger woman’s gaze drift down to her thighs. Fingers picked at a non-existent spot on her legging.

“You’re still in love with her.”

The psychologist put her full glass down carefully on the table and scooted closer until thighs were touching. She pulled the beer bottle from Cher’s hand and set it down next to her wine, then tangled their fingers together. 

“No," she said, her face turned toward the younger woman. “We were never in love, Cher. And it was a long time ago.” It had been more than a year since she and Franky split up. Hell, her probationary period alone was a full 12 months and she had dumped Franky before that. “I asked her to leave. But we still care about each other. And we have a shared history of… terrible experiences with Ferguson. We needed to talk about this latest incident.” She looked down at their intertwined hands and brought them up to her mouth, kissing Cher’s fingers. “We’re mates, Love. That’s all.”

The dark eyes staring back at her, usually so carefully shuttered, radiated fear, need and desire. Bridget’s breath caught at the unguarded, wordless response. Cher leaned in and kissed her tentatively. Then more confident, finally straddling her lap and claiming her hungrily. 

Bridget knew she was not really what this girl wanted. What she needed. They were hardly a good match emotionally even if they were excellently suited sexually. And Bridget herself was not in love. But they could give each other this, now. And if the psychologist kept her head about her, for a change, she could help them both find what they really needed. 

“Cher,” she pushed against her chest gently, indicating the injured arm. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you,” Cher said simply, leaning in again.

Bridget kept her hand firm. This was an important point. This boundary needed to be marked and continually illuminated. “I’m not right for you. You know that.” She sighed. “We aren’t right for each other.”

“We could be.” The young woman’s eyes were shuttered again.

Bridget closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the couch. _Damn._ She had actually been really looking forward to some aggressive and then tender lovemaking tonight. Cher was surprisingly adept at the tender part. Bridget wanted that. Now.

“Let’s get some dinner and watch a movie, okay?” Cher, predictably, didn’t respond. She moved off Bridget’s lap and reached for her beer. Bridget followed, securing her wine. “I have a full day of clients tomorrow and I’m exhausted. She watched Cher prop her feet on the table and begin manipulating the remote. This, Bridget knew, signaled her agreement with the agenda for the evening. Otherwise, the young woman would have been long gone from the room.

After calling down to the kitchen, Bridget checked Cher’s shoulder and put a fresh bandage on the wound, she then rewound the sling. As she settled in next to her lover _maybe? still?_ and pressed their bodies together along the side, she slid her hand over Cher’s thigh to her knee, squeezing lightly.

“I hope you’ll stay with me tonight. You don’t have to. I’m not afraid here. I just want to fall asleep with you. But I understand if you’d rather not.” She took a sip of her wine. “It really is up to you, Cher.”

The movie had started. The younger woman, who turned out to be an ardent fan of the Coen brothers, had chosen _Raising Arizona._ At the first glimpse of Nicholas ‘H.I. McDunnough’ Cage, Bridget laughed out loud. The man truly had a gift for looking and acting completely, comically vacant. She felt Cher’s chuckle through their pressed together bodies, even if it was silent. 

Her smile widened, but for a completely different reason, as she felt Cher’s hand cover her own on the younger woman’s thigh.


	15. There is a Season

They were in deMedici Law offices, in Michael’s office. Michael paced. Franky sat very still.

It had been a very strange morning so far. When Franky arrived at the office at 7am, Michael was already there. She’d asked Franky to come into her office and then instructed her to call upstairs to the kitchen to order breakfast for the two them. She wanted muesli and yogurt. Franky ordered two servings.

It was now 7:15am. Over the past fifteen minutes, Michael paced wordlessly and Franky watched her.

_What the fuck?_ Granted, Franky had only known deMedici for about six months; been on payroll a month and a day. But this frenetic energy was completely new. And Franky didn’t like it. She did know enough to not try to start a conversation. Michael had something to say and it probably wasn’t going to be good news for somebody. Franky just hoped it wasn’t her. Had she done something stupid? Said something to the wrong person at the wrong time? Had someone been talking behind her back? Stirring up trouble for her? Was it something she would be able to fix?

She didn’t want to move but couldn’t help wondering how much time had gone by and what Michael was waiting for. Her mobile was out in her cubicle and she didn't wear a watch. She looked up at the ceiling and saw a spider skittering across the inlaid lights behind Michael’s desk. She turned her head to the side and studied the panoramic view of Melbourne visible from this office. But she couldn’t quite focus on anything. Michael continued to pace.

So Franky watched Michael again. Today she was wearing Givenchy. Every stitch of clothing, down to her killer boots, were white. Next to the olive skin and midnight tresses, deMedici was stunning as usual.  _Fucking sexy as fuck. If I hadn't found Erica first... Hell yeah I would hit that. But then I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Miss Davidson. Fuck. And Miss Davidson is KINKY!_ She bit her lower lip as unbidden images of their first real d/s session popped into her head.

She shook her head. _Back to reality, girl!_

DeMedici's hairdo was different than usual. It was in a ponytail this morning, high on the back of her head. This was also new. Michael always, always wore her hair down. It was straightened, Franky knew, from having spent the night at the penthouse months ago after Gidge’s car had been blown up. Michael’s bed-head was an even sexier unruly mass of curls than her straight, professional, runway model look. That look was intimidating as well as devastating. Why she didn’t wear it like that all the time, Franky couldn’t figure. Except that maybe she knew how distracting she could be, and she only used it accordingly. It would make sense. No mere mortal could concentrate under the full force of Michael and her curly hair. Franky fought back a smile at the image: client meeting; Michael comes in with the ponytail; whipping the hair band out and shaking her head in slow motion, like a shampoo commercial.

She startled as the desk line buzzed. Michael stopped pacing to press a button on its face. Her assistant informed her that Maia was outside with breakfast. Once they had their parfaits in hand, Michael finally began to speak.

“From my observation, Doyle, you’re doing well here. How is it for you?”

Franky had no idea where this was going and that made her very, very nervous. But if prison had taught her anything, it was game face. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She took a bite of the concoction. She knew it was delicious but couldn't actually taste anything at the moment.

Michael rolled her eyes. “OK Doyle. Let me just cut to the chase, because now I’m just making you nervous. Some weird shit is about to go down. Unfortunately, I have to bring you along as wing man. If you actually like it here, this may change that for you.”

Some of the nervous tension left Franky’s body. She could now taste her food. “I can do wing man. I love it here, deMedici.” Michael smiled at her and she relaxed even more.

“Good. Very happy to hear that.” She stared at Franky for minute or two, then her brow furrowed slightly. “How are things with David?”

Normally Franky would have told someone inquiring about her relationship status to mind their own fucking bidness. But this was Michael. Her boss and her girlfriend’s best mate. Still, the juxtaposition of questioning the state of her professional and personal satisfaction sent spidey senses tingling. Franky was aware, very aware, of how much power Michael deMedici wielded in her life. Bad performance at home with Erica could end her career. She didn't think Michael or Erica would take things that far; but she wasn’t a fool. Shit happened. Love made people do fucked up stuff.

In spite of the inferred danger, she couldn’t hide the redness that, infuriatingly, started creeping up her chest. _Why the fuck am I blushing about my incredible girlfriend? Surely not because of the amazing sex we had last night. We always have amazing sex._ “Good. Great, actually.” Franky looked down into her breakfast.

“Glad to hear it,” Michael responded. “She’s giving me hell about keeping you such long hours. But it’s standard for a first year associate. She knows that.”

Franky looked up at her. The violet orbs were watching her intensely.

“Look. This is weird because you work for me and you're with David." She sighed. "I’m going to try to stay out of your personal life unless you ask me to be in it. But sometimes there’s going to be some overlap. And right now I just need to tell you this because she being a fucking pain in my arse. She really wants you to move in with her and she’s afraid to ask you. I know your flat is in the ‘burbs and it would make it easier on all of us if you just took the plunge. Wild dogs can’t drag her away from you; and if I’m reading you correctly, the feeling is mutual. You don’t have to commute, and I don’t get torn a new arsehole weekly about your looooooong hours. I’m not telling you to do anything you don’t want to do, I’m just speaking my piece.”

_Jesus. When did I get so easy to read? Does everyone know I’m whipped? And what the fuck is going on today anyway?_ Franky took a deep breath and kept chewing. “Got it.” She was so relieved that she hadn’t done something wrong that she didn’t even care if her game face was back in place. And she didn't care that her boss had basically told her to move in with her girlfriend. She wanted to do that anyway. But now she had a blessing. 

Michael stood up and walked toward Franky, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “Hurry up with that,” she pointed at the younger woman’s breakfast. “I’m going to pee and then we have a meeting with Suzanne Stone at her condo at 7:45. Meet me in the car park.” Then she was gone.

Franky went to Michael's desk to check the time and then looked at Michael’s empty dish. Franky's was still three-quarters full. She’d never thought of herself as slow, but deMedici seemed to move like lightening. _The fuck?_

It was now 7:25 am. They had barely barely 20 minutes to get to Toorak. And they weren’t anywhere near the car yet.

_*************************************_

Michael had asked Doyle to drive them in her black Porsche 718 Boxster S. First, she wanted to know if the woman could drive a manual, pleased to find her handling it like a pro. Second, she needed to talk and watch Franky listening and driving while under duress. They had 15 minutes to make what essentially was a 20 minute drive. But they would need to cut that down to closer to 10 minutes if they were to be inside at 7:45. She needed to see how Doyle handled the pressure. It was an over-simplified test of sorts; and dangerous if she thought about it too hard. But she needed to understand Doyle's mettle quickly and she had a very good feeling about the younger woman's character and strength. 

“We’re meeting with Suzanne Stone at my request. She didn’t want to do this but I insisted. She’s in the middle of filming and has to be on set by ten. We need to talk about the fact that she is bankrolling Ferguson. Stone’s mother was killed in a car accident when she was 14. Stone’s mother was also Joan Ferguson’s twin sister. Jeana Ferguson Stone.”

She watched Doyle shift the car smoothly, not even a twitch. _Nice. I knew you were up for this. But this is the easy part._ “What we need to find out is why she continues to do it, knowing what a sick freak her aunty is. And to convince her to stop it.” She watched Franky continue driving smoothly. No indication of stress except a slightly tighter grip on the steering wheel. Her face remained impassive.

“Assuming Miss Stone can be convinced to stop the cash flow, having finite resources is only going to make Ferguson more dangerous. She’ll have nothing left to lose,” Franky offered.

“I know. She needs to be forced to an endgame. And I _can_ finish this.” Franky did glance at her then. Michael was pleased to not see suspicion there, but curiosity.

“Why am I here?”

“My usual wingman’s wings are clipped. Additionally I need your specific skill set — eyes and ears and brain — in this meeting. There’s something going on with Stone and Ferguson and I’ve seen you read body language. You might even be better at it than me. I need your help to move Stone into our camp.” Michael was pleased again to see Franky smile, accepting the compliment. 

“Right.”

_Which reminds me._ “Another thing,” Michael’s tone hardened. “If you ever fucking put David near anything that has to do with Ferguson again, I’ll skin you myself. I know about that stupid little stunt sending my mate to go see the niece. She’s awake now. Ferguson knows you’re with Erica.”

“Shit.”

“Shit for brains, you mean,” Michael blew out a frustrated breath. “I get that being with her can scramble your head.” _Boy do I get it._ “I even get why it might have made sense to send gorgeous blonde attorney over to reel in scared, damaged teen. But not with the psycho in the Same. Fucking. Building. And now we’ve had this conversation again and I hate repeating myself, Doyle. You have got to step up. That’s twice now you’ve left her vulnerable. You don’t get a third miss.”

Franky did frown then, her teeth clenched. “I’m sor…” 

Michael interrupted her. “And don’t fucking apologize. Just improve.” _She really hates being dressed down. Especially when she’s wrong. Which is fine. Just means she’ll learn faster. I hope._

“Right.”

Michael kept her eyes on the road now, having seen what she needed to see from Doyle. The younger woman was earning Michael’s confidence. Despite a couple of missteps in the David department.

********************************

One week later, Franky was again sitting in Michael’s office at 7:15 am, staring down her boss. “I need to tell her. This directly impacts her. I can’t just show up on the telly with you at a fucking press conference that she doesn’t know about, deMedici!”

Their meeting with Suzanne Stone had got them the result Michael wanted. Stone was holding a press conference tomorrow, where she would disclose her relationship to Ferguson and disavow her publicly.That would put Ferguson back in the spotlight, the scrutiny making it that much more difficult for her to retaliate. Stone had asked Michael and Franky to be there. Michael thought that tactically, having them on tv as known associates of Stone gave them an additional layer of exposure and, hopefully, that much less vulnerability to the Freak’s machinations.

“I can’t stop you. You both know the legal ramifications if you say anything about a client that's privileged.” Michael sat behind her desk, her elbows resting on its surface, again watching Franky. “But that's not even what's important right now. This is about to get much deeper and nastier, Doyle. I need to know right now if you’re on board.”

Franky stood, frustrated. “Of course I’m on board! Why would you even ask that?” She'd not even flinched when deMedici dropped the little bomb about Stone being related to and financing Ferguson ten minutes before their meeting with the film star. She hadn't even told Erica yet that Stone was their client and that she was working closely with the woman. Who kept coming on to her. Plus, she was now dodging deMedici's less and less subtle advances. Surely Michael appreciated all of the stress this put on her. On her relationship.

“Come over here.”

“What?” Franky was frustrated and now wary. She moved so she was standing directly in front of her boss’s desk.

“Around here. Next to me,” Michael beckoned with a finger. She wasn’t happy about this. Pulling Franky into this level of ‘handling things.’ But she didn’t have a choice. She needed back up and Cher was out of commission in that respect. 

She’d thought a lot about this over the week, thought through alternatives. She knew exactly what it would mean to bring Dave’s girlfriend into this shit. The pressure it would put on their relationship.  But honestly, Franky had the best motivation to make this work and to keep it quiet. Was it a bit manipulative? More than a bit. Would she do it if it wasn’t David? Hell no. But it was. And Franky was now looking at her with confusion and something approaching fear. _If she refuses, it’s fine. Except that it’s not on so many levels._

She sighed. “You’re right to be concerned. And afraid.”

“Great,” Franky replied sarcastically. She moved around the desk next to Michael. “I’m not scared.”  _But if you fucking touch me sexually, I'm going to punch the shit out of you right now._

Michael looked up at Franky, and started, her voice low, almost a whisper. “This business with the psycho has to end.” Franky nodded at her. “I am going to end it. And I can’t do it on my own.”

Franky’s face darkened and she closed her eyes. _View from the tower with a highly trained strike force at your fingertips. Taking the offensive position._ Isn’t that what Erica had told her not so long ago when she’d had her first dressing down via Michael deMedici? Was it wrong to feel… fucking gleeful at the thought of experiencing it first hand? Being an intimate part of it? Especially if it meant ending a perceived threat to Erica? 

She opened her eyes and looked directly into violet, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. _And thank you Jesus that this wasn't about sex!_ “When I propose to her, you’ll back me up, yeah?”

Michael sat back, momentarily nonplussed at the seeming nonsequiter. _Did she say what I think she said?_ “Excuse me?” She stood up, towering over the younger woman, frowning down at her intensely.

Franky didn’t budge. She crossed her arms and now looked up at Michael deMedici. “When I want to marry Erica. Will you object?”  _And will you stop coming on to me now, dammit?_

Michael took a couple of steps back and covered her mouth with one hand. She was almost overcome with emotion and she didn’t like it. Doyle had not only come on board, she’d pledged allegiance and asked to marry into the family. That wasn’t what Michael had expected at all. It was much, much more. Michael deMedici didn’t like surprises and she certainly hadn’t anticipated this from her employee. _David’s girl._ It was time to stop flirting with her. It was cruel. On both of them. Because she was actually starting to have feelings for Doyle. She needed to try to keep them firmly in the 'sister-in-law' camp from now on.

And she was relieved. She’d been puzzling about this since she’d met Franky Doyle; seen the look on Erica’s face when they were together. How the hell would Franky fit into everything if it turned out she was serious about Dave? Even though David, for all practical purposes, had been inside the intimate operations of deMedici Law and the deMedici family for 35 years, there was stuff she didn't know and didn't need to know. If Franky stayed at the firm, she was going to see some things that she absolutely wouldn’t be able to tell David about. Not telling her partner about a celebrity client was one thing. Not telling her partner about some of the more... delicate... operations Michael sometimes had to implement -- like the one they would have to embark on tonight; that would be an whole other ball of wax.

Even if Cher was available and at the top of her game, she had her limitations. She was brilliant at anything technological. Efficient at research and information gathering. And adequate physical back-up. But she was still very young and her judgment was sometimes lacking. She was good at taking orders but not quite ready to issue them. Franky Doyle was all that and more. Doyle had been Top Dog in prison so she knew how to plan, strategize, and control people. She knew how to fight. And she was quickly learning the business of law. Michael was keen to pull Doyle onto her personal team; inside some of those delicate operations.

The tall brunette took a deep breath, bringing herself under control. No time to get mushy. But something settled inside her, something she didn’t know had been disturbed. _So you want to marry my David._ _Damn I wish I’d found you first._

“I might," deMedici pursed her lips at her associate. "Any chance you want to take me for a test drive before you lock that stuff down?” One side of her mouth quirked up along with a matching eyebrow as she motioned with a finger up and down Franky’s lithe frame. The smile that she got in return practically blinded her.

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Fine. Get the fuck out of my office, then.”

Franky turned to go.

“Doyle.”

Franky stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”

Michael tossed a set of keys into the air, which Doyle deftly caught with one hand. “Take the Porsche to your flat. Not David’s tonight. Collect me here at 11 sharp. Your id badge has been updated to allow you car park access and 24 hour building access. Right?”

“Okay.” She reached for the doorknob.

“Doyle.”

She didn’t turn around this time. Just growled. It was a happy growl. An ' _I get to take the fucking Porsche home. By myself!'_ hum. She didn’t want her boss to see how she excited she was and needed to get out of there before she started jumping up and down squealing like a five-year-old. “The fuck, deMedici?”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

“I know,” she said over her shoulder, catching Michael’s wink and answering with one of her own. And left.

************************************

At 10:30pm, Franky was already waiting in Michael’s spot in the carpark under the deMedici Law offices. She got out of the car and bounced a little bit on the balls of her feet, trying to work off some nervous energy. She’d barely had time to go home, change her clothes, eat, then talk Erica out of coming over. Her girlfriend wasn’t at all happy that Franky couldn’t come to stay in St. Kilda tonight, even though Franky had not technically said that. Depending on how long this business with deMedici was going to take, she fully intended to spend the rest of the night (or morning if that was the case) working off her adrenaline rush on her girlfriend’s body. But since she had no idea what the game plan was, she didn’t make Erica any promises.

She began to pace around the car. Michael had never said what they were going to do or even where they were going, but Franky had the feeling they would be seeing Ferguson at RMH very soon. And Franky was ready. She was ready to pummel the woman herself, if necessary. The poor kid Tansy had nearly killed herself; Gidge had been terrorized three times now by the Freak. And now she had Erica in her sights? _Oh hell no._ Something had to change. Someone had to make this stop. And if she understood Erica correctly, Michael deMedici was just the person to make things happen.

She looked up as she heard the lift ping and Michael stepped out. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. They were wearing nearly identical black turtlenecks and jeans and black leather boots. Franky had gone back to the heavy eye make-up she’d worn at Wentworth. She’d lightened it when she got out — not needing the intimidating look so much anymore. But tonight…. She was glad she had made the change.

Michael smirked at Franky as she looked her up and down. “Glad you got the memo,” she said, indicating Franky’s clothing. She handed her a small briefcase as she opened the car door, tossing a black leather jacket into the back. “You need to empty your pockets of everything except a mobile. And put it on silent.”

“Okay,” Franky responded, handing back the case as Michael reached for it. “Good thing I already did that.”

Michael rolled her eyes. “Fine, Jeeves. Let’s go.” She opened the passenger side door and settled herself in, the case on her lap, and buckled the safety belt. When she realized they hadn’t started moving yet, she looked over at her associate. Franky was staring at her, her head lying against the steering wheel. She looked a little loopy. “Oh, Jesus, Doyle. You didn’t take anything, did you?”

Franky sat up straight, momentarily discombobulated. The combination of being in the driver’s seat of the sports car and Michael in that ponytail and all that tight black clothing had knocked her a bit dizzy. But now was not the time for goofing off. “No! Of course not! I don't do that shit. That fucking ponytail is throwing me off.” She looked out the windshield instead of at her boss. “You want to tell me where we’re going?”

“As soon as you get us out of the carpark, Doyle.”

Franky backed out of the spot and burned a little rubber turning the Boxster around, hitting the ramp at high speed and zipping out into the street without checking for traffic. Good thing there wasn’t any. 

“You’d better tell me. Right now. If you’re on anything, Doyle,” Michael glared at her, teeth clenched. “Going to RMH. We have a date with your Freak.”

“I'm not. I swear I don't do that shit anymore. Ever,” she looked over at her boss, eyes widening as she saw what was in the case. “I… uh,” she cleared her throat. “The car is sweet and I’m on a late night dangermouse assignment with my boss. Maybe I’m a little excited.”

“Dangermouse,” Michael chuckled darkly, her voice low as she set the two pieces of hardware on her lap, closed the case and tossed it into the back seat. She screwed the silencer on the end of her pistol. “You ever kill anyone, Doyle?”

Franky didn’t answer. Shit just got real. “You?” Her nervous energy dissipated completely when she saw the gun. _What the fuck did I get myself into?_

“Are you afraid right now?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes, if you keep answering my questions with questions.” She checked the pistol to make sure it was loaded. “You know how to use a gun?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to work on that. So here’s what we’re going to do…”

An hour later they were back in the Porsche, heading back toward the law offices. 

Things seemed to go exactly as Michael had laid them out for Franky on the way to hospital. There was a single night nurse on the floor, and a security guard in front of Ferguson’s room. The security guard took a 20 minute break every night at a different time; but tonight it was 11:30. The night nurse was a lesbian who had just had a bad break-up with her short-term girlfriend. Franky was to go in first, ask to see Ferguson, and distract the nurse while Michael slipped in to the invalid’s room. If the guard came back earlier than scheduled, Franky was to make enough noise that Michael would hear inside the room. Then it would be up to Franky to distract both the nurse and the guard. Otherwise, Michael would spend 10 - 15 minutes in the room with Ferguson, then exit out the back way she’d come in while Franky continued to distract the nurse.

It had all worked out ridiculously easily. The nurse was young and very cute, easily charmed by the older woman’s sophisticated flirting and banter. Michael slipped in. Fifteen minutes later, Michael slipped out. Franky gave the young woman a fake number and passed the returning security guard as she went to met deMedici back out in the Porsche.

Except the Michael that came out of that hospital was not the Michael that went in. Franky eyed her, making sure not to break any driving laws. The last thing they needed was to be pulled over for a traffic infraction. She desperately wanted to know what happened. Had Michael shot the woman? The attorney and the ex-con in her knew this was a question one never asked.

Michael reached into the back for the gun case, dissembled the hardware, placed it in it’s protective covering and put it on the floor under her feet. Then she leaned back, adjusting the car seat to recline nearly all the way. “You hungry?” She grumbled.

It was as if a dark cloud had descended on her boss. And what kind of fucking question was that? “No. Did you want me to stop somewhere?”

Michael opened one eye and peered at her. “No, Doyle.” She closed her eye. “Just… Let’s go home. Take me home.”

“Right,” Franky said, quietly. She watched deMedici surreptitiously as she made her way back to toward the penthouse.

“You can keep the Porsche, Doyle.” Michael was impressed with how well Franky had handled herself this evening. More than impressed. She’d thrown a lot at the younger woman in a relatively small amount of time. Franky had caught the ball and run with it like a pro. "Think of it as a bonus for job well done tonight."

Franky stared at her open-mouthed, momentarily, at a loss for words. Then reality came rushing back. “No, I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“Everyone will _kno_ w we’re fucking if I start driving your Porsche around, deMedici! Come on!”

“What?” Michael pulled the seat upright again and looked at her wing man, genuinely confused.

Franky sighed heavily for effect. Honestly, the most scared she’d been all evening was when Michael came out of the hospital wearing that dark mood like hair shirt. It was easing now. She liked to think she was distracting her boss out of the dark place, dark thoughts she’d been in. “Everyone already _thinks_ we’re fucking. You’re nice to me, deMedici. You aren’t nice to _anyone._ ”

Michael half turned toward her, bracing a hand high on the driver’s seat near Franky’s shoulder. “Well I like you. I don’t like the rest of those arsehats.”

“Thank you,” she responded, trying not to smile.“But you can’t give me a car. I don’t want you to give me a car. You asked for back-up and I said I would do it. That’s what mates d…”

“Don’t you dare go all cliche on me, Doyle,” Michael growled, but her tone was lighter. Her moodchanged since she’d come out of Ferguson’s room. Doyle had been better than a wing man. She’d had been like a solid mate. It was almost like they’d been doing this together for years. “Shit,” she sighed. The woman had gotten under her skin so quickly. “Maybe I’ll give you a bonus or something.” She pulled her hand away from the seat and squeezed her fingers together, trying to suppress the urge to squeeze Franky's shoulder. “You did good tonight, Doyle.” The adrenaline high was starting to kick in. She wanted to have sex with Franky Doyle right now. In the Porsche. Badly.

They pulled into the carpark, into Michael’s assigned space. Franky turned off the car and shifted to look at her boss. And caught her breath, what there was left of it. Michael’s expression was feral, hotly sexual. Franky felt her nether-region heating up. “Ummmm,” she stammered, completely unsure what to do with this. Could she say no? Should she? _Fuck._

“You aren’t coming up to have sex with me. Are you.” 

Since it wasn’t a question, Franky didn’t answer. She shook her head in affirmation. _Nope. Nope. Please don’t ask me. You are super fucking hot right now and I don’t know if I could say no. Then Erica would…_

Before she could finish the thought, deMedici’s hand was fisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, her tongue pushing roughly into her mouth. Franky tried, so, so hard, not to kiss her back. But suddenly all the adrenaline and intense energy of the evening got to her and she gave in, moaning. Michael was delicious. And hungry. And wild. _Fuck._

As suddenly as Franky had been pulled forward, she was released. Michael exited the car quickly, taking her small case with her. She motioned for Franky to roll down the window and then rested her head on her crossed arms there.

Franky stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

Michael smiled at her. A full, toothy, almost goofy grin. “Sorry about that. No worries. I’ll fess up to David — it was entirely my fault. Mea culpa. I’ll explain it all to her. Just don’t sue me for harassment, okay?”

Franky nodded, deciding not to try to say anything. She was sure her voice was working right now anyway. That kiss had been damn good.

“Take the car. Get some rest. Come in late tomorrow,” she said, continuing to grin at Franky. “Too bad she found you first, Doyle. We’re good together; but we could be fantastic.” She backed away from the window a few steps, then stopped. “Be here by noon though. We need to be at Stone’s by 1pm tomorrow and we still need to cover talking points.” She then turned toward the lift, which magically opened just as she reached it.

“Ta,” Franky said, weakly. Only after the lift doors had closed. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then her thoughts turned to Erica. _I don’t have on any leather. Dammit. If Michael has already talked to her by the time I get home, it’s going to be a long, frustrating night._

She pressed the clutch with her left foot and pumped the gas with her right as she shifted into reverse, craned her head to look as she eased out of the spot. Michael’s jacket was still in the back seat.

Franky smiled. A long night for the right reasons. She was going to introduce Erica to the flogger tonight.

****************************

Michael grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker black and a highball glass from the bar, along with a bucket of ice and went to her room. She poured a couple of fingers into the glass and gulped it down, then walked to the window and looked out over the nightscape of the city. After pulling the mobile out of her pocket and deleting the the seven minute video, three minutes of which she had shown Ferguson, she took a deep breath. She texted Cher to destroy it, then poured herself more scotch.

Her hand shook slightly as she replayed the events of the evening. Entering the dark room and shoving the silencer into Ferguson’s mouth. Pressing a knee into her wound savagely. Telling her what she would and would not do over the next few weeks if she wanted to live. Reveling in the pain and fear she saw behind the other woman’s eyes. She was sure Ferguson couldn't see her in the darkness. Was unsure if she would recognize her voice during the press conference tomorrow. It didn't matter either way. Ferguson was fucked and she knew it.

Michael had no desire to see any of the video Cher had discovered in Ferguson's cloud account; but the few minutes of audio she’d heard earlier in the evening had finally caught up to her. She set her glass down on the floor and jogged to the ensuite, making it to the toilet just in time to lose most of what she’d eaten over the course of the day. Incest was horrifying. What Stone’s father had done to his daughter was beyond disgusting. _And who the fuck had filmed that shit?_ She hadn’t watched any of it, but Cher had and assured her there were more than 30 videos in the collection and it was all vile. And that Ferguson had held it over her niece’s head…. _Jesus. What kind of family is that?_  She'd played it for Ferguson, forced her to watch, then informed her it was all being destroyed, no trace of it ever to be found again. The pistol had been in the Freak's mouth the entire time. The safety was off and her finger on the trigger. When she'd heard the sounds a child makes who is being raped, she had wanted so very badly to pull the trigger. Her finger even twitched at one point and for a second she thought she had...

It was amazing the way Franky had pulled this information out of Suzanne earlier that week. Doyle had smoothly taken over the questioning when Michael had run out of angles.How did she know to even ask those questions? And in such a way that opened the actress up rather than shutting her down? Once Franky got her started, the story came out of Suzanne Stone in a rush.That her father had started to abuse her when she was ten. That her mother didn't believe her. That when she'd started to menstruate and her father wanted her to take birth control, she'd told Aunt Joan, then her parents had been killed in a car wreck. And then Joan had showed her the video. And when Stone got famous, Aunt Joan had asked for money. 

When her stomach stopped roiling, Michael rinsed out her mouth, then went back to her drink. Wondering if Suzanne Stone’s parents’ accident had been an accident after all. Wondering if Franky Doyle had, in fact, been assaulted in prison. Wasn’t that kind of a rite of passage? And she’d just forced herself on the woman. _Damn, deMedici. Smooth. Very smooth._

When she’d spoken to Dave earlier, told her about mashing Franky, her mate had been livid. She would probably get the silent treatment from that corner for awhile. But she was confident that relationship would survive. Franky and Dave were sickeningly cute together. Too bad. The more she got to know Doyle, the more attracted she became to the younger woman -- and not just physically. She was having a lot of trouble thinking of Franky as a future sister-in-law. 

Michael needed a distraction. Picking up her mobile she scrolled thru her booty call list until she hit a green-eyed brunette, and dialed. Not Doyle, but she’d do for tonight.


	16. This Little Light of Mine

Franky practically bounced up the the lift toward the tenth floor. She knew Erica was going to be tossed about that kiss. But so much _other_ stuff had happened. She was on Michael’s team now; like, the elite team. She’d been on some sort of deMedici mission and came home in a Porsche! With a shitload of excited energy to work off. Erica would love the flogger, the brunette was sure. And maybe she would get a cash bonus after barely a month on the job. She could not _believe_ how awesome her life was turning out.  She had a sudden vision of herself in five years: she and Erica would be married, living in a bigger, posher flat; maybe a kid or something. And Franky would be wearing Armani. Not because Erica bought it for her or Michael gave it to her; but because she could afford it. A white number kind of like deMedici had on earlier.

Of course, she would have to get the whole snogging the boss thing under control. It wasn’t cool. Aside from the fact that the woman was her goddamn direct supervisor, she wanted something different with Erica. Michael was hot as fuck; and in the moment the adrenaline had been high. But she would make her girlfriend understand. And it wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it happen again. Franky Doyle was a one-woman woman now for the first time in her life.

So many firsts — it was a little overwhelming. In the back of her mind, she was definitely waiting for everything to go pear-shaped. It was a delicate balance, keeping Erica and deMedici happy without getting between them. But she was doing it. She probably should check in with Gidge. 

She pulled the house keys from her pocket and went to unlock the door to the flat. Her hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t get the key in. She held up both hands.Both shaking badly. She finally allowed herself to listen to the internal monologue that had been manic looping since she and her boss left the hospital. _Shit. Fuck. FUCK! Did deMedici kill Ferguson? She went in with a silencer. Did I just do accessory to murder? It’s not like I can call the hospital and ask if she’s dead. Too late. You’re in the water now, bitch. Time for second thoughts was on the beach._ She tried again with the keys and dropped them. As she knelt down to pick them up, the door opened. She looked up, smiling. She had planned to work the leather jacket bit; come into the flat in full dom mode. But the suave and debonaire thing was kinda blown to hell, what with the shaky hands and all.

She looked up with anticipation, trying to think of how to tell Erica about her evening without telling her too much. How excited she had been on this particular case. How she expected the press conference to go tomorrow.

She was shaky and wired and excited until she saw her girlfriend’s face. Erica’s tear-ravaged visage was a mask of fury and pain. Franky’s chest seized and the butterflies that had been doing aerobics in her belly all evening turned into volcanic rock, slicing her up inside. “Erica,” she started.

The blonde backed away from her. “How _could you!”_ She was nearly hyperventilating. “Are you in love with her?”

Franky closed the door and locked it behind her, dropping her keys to the floor again. “No! Of course not, Baby. Come on,” she pleaded, walking slowly toward the love of her life.

Erica continued to back away until she bumped up against the kitchen island. Franky reached out for her. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” she hissed.

Erica Davidson was so far out in uncharted water she couldn’t even tell if she was on a boat or drowning. The self-assured woman who had fended off Franky’s advances in Wentworth, and even on campus (well, mostly fended off; except when she was greedily lapping them up) was lost. Once they had started exploring their dom/sub energy, her world had turned upside down in the best of all possible ways. She found herself not lying anymore. Both because she didn’t need to and because it was much less interesting than the truth as she was now living it. She felt her confidence and competence without constantly having to assert them. She felt whole, no longer scrambling for the next high, the next accolade, the next affirmation of her capabilities. 

But here was the other side of that fucking coin. That sense of peace was inextricably tied to Franky Doyle. And she obviously wasn’t as enmeshed in this relationship as Erica was. Erica hadn’t even thought about anyone else sexually since she and Franky had become intimate. But clearly, this thing between them was not enough to keep her lover focused. And sharing Franky, she knew, would drive her mad. 

And at the moment, she was torn between throwing herself at Franky’s feet and begging her not to leave; and getting the jump on her eventual humiliation when she was dumped for Michael by throwing her girlfriend out now. And fucking Michael! Done! Erica was done with her. Michael deMedici had just joined the ranks of Fucking Bridget. But while she could now tolerate FB having time with Franky, FM would be persona non grata. Done. Michael knew what Franky meant to her. And she had  _messed_ with it. With her. With them.  _Done._

Franky was getting closer to her now. She could escape around the bench — she was burning, both for want of the brunette’s touch and in fear of it. She turned her back, putting her face in her hands as she continued to sob. “I hate you!”

Franky was dumbfounded at this response from her girlfriend. Was she truly this insecure? Why? This was so unnecessary. But Franky felt a calmness that came from certainty: the sureness that she really wasn't going anywhere. She loved this woman and had declared intention to marry her earlier in the evening. It was a move that surprised even Franky in the moment; but in retrospect, she was glad her intentions were clear before she'd gone into hospital with Michael. Anything could have happened in there; and Franky was no stranger to danger. Life was short. Time to stop mucking about with this relationship. 

And she knew Erica wasn't going anywhere either, with her not-so-subtle hints about moving in together, here in St. Kilda. And then Michael had confirmed it. She pressed herself against Erica’s back, wrapping her arms about the smaller woman’s waist and nuzzling her hair. Pushing the curtain of golden locks to the side and placing her lips against warm skin. The volcanic rock eased back to butterflies. She was no longer shaking, now that she had her love in her arms. She repressed the smile as Erica soon relaxed against her, covering Franky’s hands with her own. 

They were going to be just fine.

“I’m sorry, Baby,” Franky said softly against her ear. “I would never hurt you on purpose.”

Erica turned slowly in her arms, her eyes searching Franky’s face; pleading for assurance. “Why did you kiss her? Are you in love with her?” She placed her palms on Franky’s chest as if bracing for impact.

“No! No, Erica,” she leaned in for a kiss but Erica turned away from her lips. _Okay. How do I make you understand this?_ “I don’t know what to do to stop you worrying I’m about to run off with…”

The blonde interrupted. “How about not KISSING other women? Especially my best mate, Franky!” She sniffled, fresh tears falling.

Franky had enough sense to look chastised. She deserved that. “I am an idiot. You know this,” she blew out a breath. Took another deep one. “I really am sorry, Erica. She caught me off guard. I wasn’t… I didn’t…” She looked away, then pulled Erica in tighter. “I’m crazy about you. You know that. I… This is not an excuse and I understand why you’re angry.” She pressed her mouth to Erica’s ear. “I don’t.. Fuck. I’ve never been in a monogamous relationship before, Love. I’m not going to try to convince you that I don’t find other women attractive. And before you, it didn’t matter to me who I was dating if I saw someone else I wanted to kiss. But I never intended to kiss deMedici. And I should have punched her.” Franky thought about that moment. The adrenaline had been off the charts in a way Franky hadn’t experienced since brawling in prison.

Erica pulled back enough to see Franky’s eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

_God that pout slays me. You are so fucking adorable._ “Honestly, I didn’t have time. We had a very intense… evening. I want to tell you about it and our client, Baby,” she sighed. Erica was calming. “Being at the firm is like riding the bullet train every day. And some of the late hour assignments… I won’t always be able to tell you, but…”

“Are you in love with her, Franky?”

“No! NO! Erica. She’s more than a little easy on the eyes. Everyone is attracted to her. Aye?”

Erica reluctantly nodded.

“She practically jumped on me and I wasn’t expecting that. But that’s not even the point here.”

Erica’s brow furrowed. _What. Exactly. Is.The. Point._

The brunette cupped Erica’s jaw, swiping a thumb gently across her lips. “You’re the only one I want, Erica. I’m in love with _you._ No one else.” She leaned in slowly allowing for her lover to back away if she wanted to. Pleased when soft lips kissed her back a second and a third time.

Franky pulled her in tighter, nibbling the blonde’s lower lip. Gently seeking entrance with her tongue. Smiling when she felt Erica resist. _Playing is a good sign._ A wave of warmth spread through her when she felt a reluctant smile matching hers pressed against her mouth. She pushed with her tongue this time, her hands sliding lower to squeeze a firm bum as the older woman’s hands tangled in her hair, tugging lightly at her scalp, angling their heads as the kiss deepened.

She wasn’t sure who moaned. She was sure that Erica’s thigh between hers was making her ache. “Anyone tries to kiss me again, except you, I’ll smack the shit out of them.” Erica nodded, diving in for more kissing. Franky pulled back again. “Anyone besides me tries to kiss you, I will kill them.” Erica’s smile trembled only slightly. Franky kissed her again, putting into it all of the emotion, anxiety, adrenaline and passion that had been building throughout the evening. When she pulled back, Erica looked dazed and her breathing was ragged.

Franky pressed their foreheads together. “I love you,” she said softly. It wasn’t as scary as she thought it would be, saying it out loud. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Erica’s eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’. 

Franky flashed the million watt smile. She actually felt freer than she had in a long time. Maybe _this_ would be enough for her lover to stop freaking out. She leaned in for another kiss as she slid her hands a bit further down the blonde’s thighs, pulling the same up around her waist.

Erica complied immediately but soon pulled back from the kiss. Had she just entered an alternate reality or… Did she just hear what she thought she heard? She bit her bottom lip and regarded Franky with almost comical seriousness. “Wait. My best… ex-best mate calls me to tell me she mashed my girlfriend. Then said girlfriend comes home and tells me it didn’t…” She cleared her throat. “Let’s go over this again.” She needed to trace the steps. Make sure they led where she thought she just heard them lead. “You didn’t want to kiss her, but you are attracted… ummmmmm.” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a voracious snog.

“Out of everything I’ve said to you tonight, that’s what you’re going with?”

Erica blushed and pushed her face against her lover’s neck. Then kissed her there, sweetly. _It was real._ “Maybe not,” she said reveling in the warm, familiar sandalwood-smell of her girlfriend. 

Franky kissed her ear. “So let’s try this again. I love you.”

The blonde kissed her way back to Franky’s lips, “Hmmmm. Ummmhmmmm.” She felt herself moving through space toward the bedroom as she kissed her lover languidly, focusing on the thousand points of pleasure that exploded across her body from the simple sensation of Franky’s tongue sliding, tangling, sucking inside her mouth. The sounds of their lips, wet and sloppy together shooting hot arcs of electricity directly to her sex.

She felt her back hit the doona and Franky’s weight settle on top of her, between her legs. She pressed her groin up, seeking the pressure which was instantly provided. Her mind spun wildly across the arc of emotion she’d experienced since Michael had phoned her with a completely blasé report of french kissing her employee who also happened to be the love of Erica’s life. The blind fury that engulfed her with that image — she couldn’t even remember what she’d said to Michael after that. Only slamming the mobile down and then being alone with the rage, as it quickly morphed into wretched fear and a litany of ‘what if’s.’ What if Franky liked it? What if Franky was falling for Michael? What if Franky’s affections were changing allegiance? What the hell would she do if Franky actually left her? How did she get in so deep? And then the despair: cold, aching, burning. Abject fear.

Yet now she was pulling Franky’s black turtleneck off and making quick work of her bra. She couldn’t say how or when her own shirt and bra were removed, only that her lover was now reaching inside her yoga pants, sliding her fingers into sopping, molten folds. She gasped. 

Franky kissed her again. “Ooooh. Miss Davidson,” the brunette spread the wetness around between and outside Erica’s nether lips. Coating her fingers, gently massaging and stimulating the sensitive flesh. “You’ve been a particularly good girl for the last few minutes.”

Erica found herself laughing and moaning at the same time as her hips thrust, seeking more pressure from the younger woman’s fingers. She had her own witty retort ready and opened her mouth to speak it at the same time Franky thrust three fingers deep inside her. Miss Davidson said little else coherently for the next hour.

***************************************

Franky sighed in contentment as she looked over at the digital clock on the night table. It was a little after three. They’d had a massive fight and incredible make-up sex in just over an hour and a half. Erica lay completely on top of her. Fight duration was getting shorter and fucking after was getting longer and more intense. Franky figured this was a good trajectory for their relationship.

“What made Michael think it was okay to kiss you?” Erica breathed a soft puff against her lover’s ear.

_Alright. We gotta work this through. Context, babe._ “I don’t think she was really thinking. I know I wasn’t.” She waited while Erica shifted up onto her elbows so she could see Franky’s face. A position which also, coincidentally, pressed her sex against Franky’s belly, the lips down there parting distractingly. Franky hadn’t insisted on playing in character tonight as she had originally planned, opting for some conventional care-taking. They weren’t quite ready to work out this level of insecurity inside of the dom/sub relationship yet.

“We have a press conference tomorrow with a major client. And I don’t know how much I should tell you. Until the client makes the announcement, everything is privileged. But I don’t want you to be blindsided.”

Erica looked at Franky’s lips, then back to her eyes. ‘Who is the client?”

“Suzanne Stone.”

Erica’s eyes narrowed. “What?! Did she try to kiss you too?”

Franky chuckled. “I’m flattered you think that’s worthy of a national press conference. But no.”

“Why would I be blindsided?”

“The announcement she has to make indirectly impacts you. And me.”

Erica’s brow furrowed. 

“And Gidge…”

Her eyes widened. “Ferguson?! No! What… How… Damn. You can’t tell me.”

“Not unless I want to be disbarred.” _Or we get married._ _But that’s later. Let’s close this Michael-kissing-me-loop now._ “So we had an incredibly… intense and stressful meeting earlier tonight. I didn’t know how it was going to go so I didn’t want to promise I would be here later. But then it went much better and smoother than either of us anticipated.”

Erica nodded slowly. Listening.

“So afterward I was driving us back to the penthouse and we were both really, really wired. I was thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you tonight. But I was also really, really happy.DeMedici and I kind of… we’re a very good team, Erica, the way we handled the client together. We got even more information from her than we thought we would; and so the press conference should be cake. And then she actually said I did a really good job tonight and I deserved a bonus. And then bam!”

“Umm hmmm.”

“And then she apologized and left. And then I was thinking about a new toy I wanted to share with you tonight and realized I didn’t have any leather on…” She watched Erica mulling this information over.

“Hey. You might cut Michael some slack.” She watched the eyebrows arch up and the indignant reply formulating. “Wait — hear me out. How long have you been mates? Nearly 30 years?” When Erica nodded in assent, she continued. “And from what I gather, you’ve been going bumper to bumper since your teens.”

Erica lay her head back down on Franky’s shoulder. “Off and on. We’ve always dated other people. I was married, Franky.”

“The wanker. Right.” 

Erica bristled against her. She was still in her own personal hell about how badly she’d treated Mark and their marriage. What Franky must think of her because of it. How much she still had to prove. “Don’t call him that, please,” she asked. “I was the one who stuffed that up.”

Franky nodded, wondering briefly what it would be like to live a lie for so long. And what other difficulties they would encounter because of Erica's lies as they adjusted to a new truth for them both. “Just hear me out and try not to get defensive." She stroked Erica's hair until she felt the slight nod of assent. "From what I can gather, _you’ve_ always dated other people, Love. She’s been all in for you this whole time. And you’ve strung her along, Erica. You got married and you still slept with her.”

“But…”

“And she never holds you accountable. Never. Do you have any idea that you’re the only person who looks at Michael deMedici and sees a big teddy bear? The only one who sees the five-year-old primary mate?” Erica remained still against her. “You are the _only_ one who has probably ever seen that side of her. She never says no to you. She adores you. She’s known as the Ice Queen at the firm. I heard that one guy literally shit his pants in the middle of the office when she chewed him out for a mistake.”

Erica’s head shot up so she could see Franky’s face again, her expression a bit incredulous. “Oh come on. I know she runs a tight ship and she’s intimidating, but…”

“Seriously. She scares the fuck out of everyone.” 

Erica looked a bit baffled, as if she’d never considered this before. 

“And when was the last time you had sex with her?”

Now she blushed, and her murmured answer was buried in Franky’s neck.

“See, I don’t even know what you said. But I know it was sometime around when I showed up in your class; or when we started dating. So suddenly — try to see it from her perspective — you’re completely unavailable. Emotionally and physically. When has that ever been true for the two of you? And did you ever actually talk to her about it, or just tell her you were done messing around?”

Erica turned her head away from Franky again. She was feeling defensive and embarrassed that she had never taken the time to understand her mate better. To pay attention to this dynamic. To realize how egregiously she had been taking advantage of Michael and that Michael had let her. She had never actually thought about how Michael felt. She assumed… a lot of things. And she was realizing just how wrong she had been about many of them, now that Franky was in her life. 

In her mind’s eye, Franky could see Erica's furrowed, brooding brow. She could feel the self-recrimination curling across Erica’s skin. They both had a lot of growing to do. But right now,she wanted to kiss it all away. “Just think about it.” 

Erica slid away from Franky, giving her back to her lover. Franky scooted up against her, spooning, even as Erica resisted weakly. 

“Ahhh. Don’t think you’re getting away from me ever again, Miss Davidson. Even for a night of immature hissy-fitting.” She was getting sleepy now, and stifled a yawn.

Erica elbowed her in the ribs. Franky laughed softly, kissing the back of her girlfriend’s head. “I’m going to sleep. That press conference is going to be a bitch. And it’s my first one. And I have no idea what’s going to come after.” She snuggled tightly against the blonde. “I’d love it if you could be there.”

Erica pulled one of Franky’s hands up between her breasts and kissed the knuckles.

“Try to give Michael a break. I don’t think she really knows what’s going on inside herself. I think she’s a bit out of sorts and its _your_ job to clean that up. Don’t yell at her; talk to her. What happened tonight was stupid and inexcusable; but an isolated incident. You need to take responsibility for your role in how we all got here, Love, before you lose your best mate and I get sacked.”

Erica started, finally speaking. “She wouldn’t sack you. You’re the best thing since sliced bread, if you could hear her talk. Don’t tell her I told you that.” _Was Michael falling for Franky?_ It had never occurred to Erica that Michael could actually fall for anyone. Except her. A long time ago. _Jeez. Could I get any more self involved?_

“Well don’t let her sack your friendship then. Talk to her. With compassion, Erica. For once let her lean on you and be reassured that she will be fine.”

“She’s always fine.” _She has to be fine. Oh God, Michael. What have I done to you?_

“Not without you, she’s not. Clearly. And she feels like she’s lost you.”

“Franky.”

“Hmmmm?” Franky’s yawn escaped loudly this time, a snippet of a thought evading her as she gave up the battle to keep her eyes open. But there was something else she wanted to tell Erica.

“I, ahhhh…” She kissed a palm. But still balked at what she'd actually wanted to say. So she said, instead, “thank you for being patient with me tonight.”

“Ummm hmmm,” she was nearly asleep. And damn sure that wasn’t what Erica had meant to say to her. That damn elusive fragment… _oh yeah._ “Hey, Love. I was thinking about bringing more of my stuff over.”

Erica perked up, turning over and pushing Franky onto her back so she could lie half on top of her. “I love... that idea.”  _Why is it so hard to just say it! Coward!_

“Maybe even all of it. My stuff. It isn’t a lot of stuff.” She knew she was slurring and maybe sounding ridiculous. As long as she made her point, which she felt she had after Erica’s answer. Then she was asleep.

“Perfect,” Erica whispered against Franky’s chest and kissed her there, relishing the sound of the strong, steady heartbeat under her cheek, and closed her eyes.

**********************************

Bridget Westfall was between clients, catching up on her backlog of paperwork. She had only missed a couple of days due to Ferguson’s latest stunt; but she hadn’t quite caught up with the increased demand for her service that seemed to flip like a light switch once she went off probation. She needed to find a full time admin, which she hadn’t needed for nearly a year.

The television was playing softly in the background; but when she thought she heard “deMedici” coming from the local news she turned to see what was on the screen.

She was surprised to see Franky Doyle in a press conference, standing behind and to the left of her boss, Michael deMedici, who was at a podium next to her client, Suzanne Stone. Bridget smiled. Franky had come a long way in a short time and the psychologist’s grin widened. She was proud of her former charge. Her ex girlfriend. She pulled the remote out of her drawer so she could increase the volume as she watched tears streaming down the actress’ face. She frowned as she caught the sobs of the woman, who turned into Michael’s shoulder.

Michael held the diminutive bleached blonde and stared straight into the camera, her sculpted features seemingly made for the screen. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My client will not be answering any further questions at this time.” Then she led the woman away toward Franky, who caught the actress about the waist as they both practically carried her from the room. 

Bridget turned to fully engage with the story. The presenter described the horrifying announcement that had been made, that the actress had been severely abused as a child. And that she was being blackmailed by… Bridget exhaled sharply, her pulse racing as her hand flew to her mouth. She took deep, calming breaths. 

How bizarre, she mused. _What are the chances that Franky ends up in with Ferguson’s movie-star niece as a client?_ She wondered how long Franky had known this information, and frowned at the thought that such an intimate, troubling secret had gone unspoken between them. Even though they weren’t in a professional relationship any more by any means, she knew Franky still felt comfortable confiding in her as her friend. She’d expected that to continue regardless of the young attorney’s new professional life. Then she caught herself. _And getting Franky disbarred. Why is it that I can’t seem to hold to even normal boundaries with this woman? Well, time to talk to Belle again, I suppose._

_Maybe this level of exposure for Joan Ferguson and her pathological behavior will curb her further attempts to harm people._ Especially people Bridget cared about. Including herself. That type of public shaming was often very effective. Even for psychopaths. But not a cure — who knew what or who would be the Freak’s next target. 

She turned her focus back to the newscast. Michael deMedici was now fending off reporters as she walked away from the condo building Stone must live in. The presenter finally stopped pursuit and turned to face her camera again, but Bridget was focused on the background of the scene, where Michael continued to swiftly retreat and the psychologist could make out Franky, aways down the block, waving at her boss. She smiled, promising herself she would call her mate later today to see how she was doing. Then frowned again as Franky disappeared from the screen, followed by a muffled crashing sound that the presenter didn't seem to notice. 

_Where did she go?_ Bridget scooted closer in her office chair, the wheels sticking in the plush carpet until she finally got up and walked over to the box, peering intently. She saw Michael running and, finally, the presenter seemed to get wind of some commotion happening behind her. The camera followed as the reporter ran toward a scene that Bridget would not soon forget, if ever. 

Michael deMedici was on her knees on the asphalt next to what was clearly a horribly misshapen, bloody heap. The vehicle that had caused the bloody heap had t-boned a black Porsche on the other side of the road, and someone — a large, bald man — was getting out of the drivers’ side of the car. He started to run, but deMedici sprung from the ground and was after him, tackling him before he got any real momentum. But that wasn’t where they psychologist’s gaze was focused. It was on the bloody heap.

Franky.

She heard the presenter trying to piece together the story unfolding in front of her, checking her notes. She said something about “deMedici associate Francesca Doyle…” but that’s all Bridget heard before a roaring whiteness filled her ears and head. 

The next thing Bridget Westfall knew, Cher was in front of her, cradling her face gently.

“Come back. Come on, Dr. Westfall,” she said softly.

Bridget blinked. “What are you doing here?” She knew tears were falling, streaming really, unchecked. She wasn’t sobbing. She couldn’t really feel anything except the wetness on her face.

“I was watching the news. She’s on route to St. Vincent’s. Come on.” Her hand slid back behind the older woman’s neck as she stood.

That was when Bridget realized she was kneeling in front of the television, which was still warbling on at the scene of the accident. _Franky’s accident. Someone had run Franky down._ She stood up quickly and instantly felt dizzy, nearly falling over. Cher caught her. And began pulling her toward the door of her office. 

“I can’t, Cher. I still have clients coming today.”

“Can’t you cancel them?”

“No,” she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” She needed to pull herself together. She pushed the young woman away, turning her back, trying to gain a semblance of control. But she still couldn’t feel anything except the tracks of her own tears.

“Bridget…”

“Have you… is she…” She couldn’t make herself complete the sentence.

“Michael said that she was alive when the ambo arrived and critical when they got to hospital, but breathing. That’s all I know,” she finished.

“Michael is with her?”

“At hospital, yes. She’s in surgery.”

And it hit her, finally, the wave of fear and sadness and overwrought emotion. _She’s alive. Thank God she’s alive._ She collapsed, sobbing, into Cher’s arms.

**********************************

Erica had been teaching a class at the exact time of the press conference, and didn’t hear what happened until the last of her students filed out of the room, a full hour after the attempt on Franky’s life. She always left her mobile in her office during class. Once she’d started dating Franky, that little piece of technology had become a ticking time bomb in her handbag or her jacket pocket during the most inconvenient of times. It was almost impossible not to look at it when she heard her girlfriend’s distinctive buzz or chime. And whatever text or voicemail Franky left, four times out of five, would be something that made her blush, choke, or spew whatever she was drinking. At times it simply short circuited her brain completely, robbing her of language. It was astonishing, really, the array of words and phrases the brunette had been able to come up with to discombobulate her at very inopportune moments.

So it was with anxious glee that she hurried back to her office to tune in to the local news and check her messages. She was dying to hear how the press conference went for Franky; and also to hear what it was about. Her girlfriend hadn’t told her last night, a fact which made her both proud and a bit peevish. She was very pleased that Franky had integrity about her client. But annoyed that she maintained that integrity even with _her._ She bounced up the last flight of stairs and practically skipped toward her office, slowing when she saw Martin, Michael’s head of security standing stiffly by her door. 

She tried to remain calm, focus on breathing. “What’s happened? Is Michael all right?”

“Ms. DeMedici is fine. It’s Ms. Doyle. I’m to take you directly to St.Vincent’s when you’re ready.”

Erica could swear her heart stopped completely. _No! Nononononono!_ She fumbled with her office keys, made quick work of getting inside, grabbing her satchel and coat and locking back up. She tried to at least appear as if she wasn’t flying completely apart at the seams. Which is exactly how she felt. “Do you know what happened, Martin?”

The woman shook her head and grabbed Erica’s upper arm, leading her to the lift. She was glad for the support as she had a terrible feeling in her gut. She pulled out her mobile and speed dialed Michael. “What happened? Is she all right?”

There was no response initially, then, “No, Erica. She’s not… you need to get here.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh God.” It was a half sob. Michael _never_ called her Erica. She couldn’t remember the last time her first name had passed her best mate’s lips. The mobile fell from her fingers, bouncing off the linoleum at her feet. The spread of cracks across the face of her iphone seemed to happen in slow motion as she watched each little runnel forming, inching slowly across the screen. She had the urge to vomit and stuffed her fist into her mouth as she stopped moving to watch her mobile skitter across the floor. 

Martin deftly scooped up the cracked device and recaptured Erica’s arm, pulling her gently along the hallway towards the front of the building and the waiting limousine.


	17. Through a Glass Darkly

Erica didn’t know what time it was; only that it was dark outside. When she’d arrived at hospital… whenever ago… she had been completely undone. Michael couldn’t tell her much except that Franky had been deliberately run down and there had been a lot of blood. The nurses wouldn’t tell her anything as she wasn’t a relative and not on Francesca’s Doyle’s emergency contact list. She wondered briefly who was on Franky's emergency contact list, then implored her best mate to figure this out. Get them access. _Get me in! s_ he’d whispered furiously at the tall brunette, stamping her foot and yanking hard at the front of Michael’s jacket.

And she had. Michael pulled a classically-styled emerald-cut four-carat diamond ring off her finger, shoved it onto Erica’s; pulled her back toward the nurse’s station and growled out, “My name is Michael deMedici and I’m her attorney," she inclined her head in her mate's direction. "This is Erica Davidson. She is Franky Doyle’s fiancé and she needs to understand what’s going on,” in a tone that elicited no further argument from the medical staff.

Shortly thereafter, Erica had turned into a mad woman. Lying in the dark, her head on her lover’s hospital blanket, a limp hand held tightly in her own, she again reviewed the events that led her there.

_Michael’s lie and veiled threat had done the trick in getting Erica access to information about Franky. She had been so anxious and scared she could barely breathe, but sighed with relief, sagging against Michael, who held her up as they followed the nurse up two floors to the intensive care unit. Franky had still been in surgery, but the nurse quietly informed her of her fiancé’s injuries: Franky had not been breathing on her own when she arrived at hospital; she had severe head trauma and internal organ damage. The nurse suggested that if the family was religious, now would be a good time to call her closest kin and a priest._

_She blinked in shock and surprise. Priest? Kin? No. No. Nonono. This was not happening. These things didn’t happen to her. To her and Michael. Michael fixed everything. Michael was here. Therefore, this could not be happening._

_She turned slowly, to see her mate sitting in a chair, elbows on knees, head clutched in both hands._

_“Michael,” she suddenly felt preternaturally calm. “How do we fix this?”_

_Her mate looked up at her. Face tear-streaked. “I’m so sorry, David. I don’t know. I didn’t even see him coming until it was done.”_

_Erica tilted her head, not quite understanding what her mate was saying. She was waiting to hear ‘yes love’ and ‘I’ll handle it, Dave.’  When none of those words were forthcoming, she spoke over Michael’s low tones. “We just need a better doctor, yeah? Better facility?”_

_“Oh Love,” Michael stood up and approached her. “St. Vincent is one of the best. She’s not going to get better care…” She faded out mid sentence, watching the blonde’s expression contort from confusion to rage._

_Erica felt the slow fury unfurling inside. Michael should be doing something. Anything. Fixing this. Making people move. Making people tremble, stumble over themselves doing her bidding. Saving Franky. Her Franky. Or was Michael deliberately trying to stuff this up, take Franky away from her? She had been kissing her only the night before… Was this about keeping Erica all to herself? Getting rid of Franky so she and Michael could be together? And who was it that ran Franky down, anyway? How had that even happened? Was it an accident or deliberate? Michael should have known about any threat to any of them. She always knew. Always took care of things. Always was one step ahead. How could she have let this happen unless she was deliberately sabotaging Erica's one true love?_

_“David?” Michael reached out uncertainly._

_Erica slapped her hand away and poked her in the chest. Hard. “This is your fault.”_

_Michael blinked once. Then again, her eyes wide. Her mouth slightly open. “Come again?”_

_Another poke, as Michael backed away from that aggressive finger._

_“You knew Ferguson was after Dr. Westfall and it was only a matter of time before she came for Franky. You knew and you did nothing! This is your fault!” She pounded now, with both fists. “YOU did this! YOU!” A red mist swirled before her eyes, clouding her view. “YOU!” Strong fingers circled her wrists, stopping her motions. She jerked free, stumbling backward, her lips curling into a snarl. “GET OUT!” She yelled._

_A nurse entered, shushing loudly. “You can’t do this in here,” she said quietly but sternly. “You’ll need to leave the floor, please.”_

_Erica turned to the nurse startled, the red mist receding. She held herself still, breathing deeply, trying to calm her frayed psyche. “I’m sorry, I just…” she saw Michael disappearing through the door that was closing softly behind the nurse. Good riddance, she thought as she focused on the woman in the white uniform in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’m just… Is there an update on Francesca Doyle?”_

_“They’re moving her into recovery now. The doctor should be out soon.” The nurse eyed the blonde woman, her expression shifting from rebuke to sympathy. “Do you need a sedative, dear?” She reached out toward her. “It’s hard. I know. So very hard to wait not knowing. Do you want me to go after your mate?”_

_Erica looked down at the floor, wrapping her arms about herself. What had she just done? Ranting like a lunatic in the middle of the ICU. But she couldn’t examine that now. The doctor would be out soon with news about Franky. “No, no,” she fumbled for words, suddenly drained, exhausted, unsure of herself. Unsure of anything. She couldn’t seem to form a rational thought. “I need to…” She didn’t resist as the other woman took hold of her arm and led her to a chair, pushing her down softly into it._

_“Just keep breathing, dear. You’ll get to see her soon.”_

_Then Erica was alone._

She felt a sharp pain on her forehead and jerked upright. Had she been sleeping? She’d been sitting by Franky’s bedside, holding a limp hand constantly — except for bathroom breaks — for over 24 hours. At some point she’d had the semblance of focus to call the Dean of the law school and inform him she was in hospital with her fiancé. She noticed, seemingly for the first time, a large diamond ring on her engagement finger. That was what had been cutting into the skin on her face. She blinked at Franky. Were they engaged? When did that happen? Had Franky even moved in yet? Wasn’t that conversation only the night before? Or was that days or weeks ago?

_This ring. Oh, Michael… What have I done..._

She pushed that thought away, not having any more emotional capacity for destruction and ruin. And even though Franky wasn’t exactly ruined, Erica was bereft at her lover’s unconsciousness. It was a cruel joke the way the last two days had unfolded. Franky declared her love, agreed to move in, and less than a day later was in hospital in a medically induced coma. She kissed Franky’s fingers, laying her head back on the bed against her girlfriend’s hip.

Erica swallowed. The taste in her mouth was bitter as she mused over the irony of her predicament. Three years ago in Wentworth, Franky would have actually had to be in a medically induced coma to agree to the life she was now living with the former governor: a monogamous adult relationship that Erica had every intention of moving toward a marriage. She blew her nose into a soiled handkerchief that had been in her pocket for too long; then looked about for a box of tissues. She spotted one across the room and stood to get them as her younger sister, Veronica, entered the room. 

Veronica lifted an eyebrow and Erica pointed to the box of tissues as she sat back down next to Franky. She was so glad to see the young woman, so grateful to have such a close bond with her sister that she hadn't even called and Nic had come. With supplies, even. She saw the canvas bag slung behind Nic's shoulder as she bent slightly to pick up the tissues. And smelled something. Bacon? 

 Erica’s little sister crossed the room, pulling up a chair next to her sibling, laying the box on the bed and a gentle hand at the small of her sister’s back.  “How you going, Sis?” Veronica’s hand wandered up to firmly massage the stiff muscles at the base of Erica’s neck.

“Oh god, Nic.” Erica laid her head back on the bed near Franky’s hip. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“I brought you some fresh knickers and some soup. Mum made potato leek.”

Erica’s stomach growled loudly in response. She’d always been a healthy eater with a fast metabolism, but the thought of anything passing across her lips made her want to wretch. How could she possibly eat with Franky clinging to life next to her?

When she didn’t get a response, Nic smoothed the stringy hair back from her sister’s brow. She was in law school herself, enjoying the free tuition afforded to her as Erica’s immediate family, and had heard the news from her mum, who dialed her in a panic because Erica wasn’t answering her mobile. Nic and Erica were the only two girls in a six child family. Even though they were ten years apart they were very close, managing to back each other quite well during sibling gender wars. She’d known immediately where Erica would be and in what condition. What she couldn’t figure out was where was her sister’s best mate? Michael hadn’t answered or returned several of Nic’s calls since her sister’s girlfriend’s accident. 

“What has the doctor said?”

Erica finally sat upright, sniffing noisily and running her free hand through her tousled, greasy blonde curls. She sighed heavily. “It wasn’t as bad as they thought it would be. The doctor said she must be made of titanium or something.” Nic interlaced their fingers. “She’s lost her spleen and appendix. Broken three ribs, one of which punctured a lung. Broke her arm. And banged her head hard enough that they had to drill her skull and let some of the pressure off.”

“What’s the prognosis?”

“We’ll have to wait and see. There’s no way to tell with a brain injury. Not until she wakes up.”

“Any idea when that will be?”

“They’ve induced a coma for 48 hours. Then they’ll let her come to on her own.”

“Have you slept at all?”

Erica shook her head in the negative.

Nic sighed. “I’ll have them bring a cot. What’s wrong with them that they haven’t got you one already? And where’s deMedici?”

Erica closed her eyes, a sharp pain shooting across her temples. She pressed the heels of her hands to her head as if to keep it from flying apart.

The younger woman’s eyes went wide as her eyebrows arched high. “Oi, Sis. Michael’s not hurt, aye?”

She sighed again. She was so _tired._ “No,” she answered quietly. _Not physically._ And changed the subject. “You’re right. I need a shower and then I need to eat.” She stood up and leaned over Franky’s face, checking for any movement, any signs that she was coming around even though she knew it was likely futile for another 24 hours at minimum. She pressed her lips gently to Franky’s; to her eyes and then her forehead. “I’ll be right back, Love,” she said softly into Franky’s ear. “Nic is going to sit with you while I freshen up.”

Veronica had mercifully packed Erica’s own body products with her changes of clothing — enough stuff to last her several days, actually. She sobbed with relief as she smelled the citrus body wash and lavender shampoo, scrubbing what felt like several days worth of sweat, emotional trauma and exhaustion from the surface of her skin. She was scared to death. And isolated. She had taken Franky home for only one family dinner and not really shared the true depth of her attachment to the younger woman with her friends and family yet. No one really knew.

Except Michael. Her best mate. And she had sent that relationship up in flames a few hours ago. Days? She wasn’t sure any more. What she was sure of was that she had destroyed her friend with those accusations. 

She’d heard every word Franky had said to her the other night in bed. She was embarrassed at the revelation; at her own lack of perception. That she hadn’t seen the depth of Michael’s attachment. _No, it was love. Michael has always been in love with you_. And the most brutal realization was that she had felt it too, when they were younger. But she had so confused herself with her own lies, she hadn’t trusted what was an obvious truth between them at a very young age. They were a good fit.

_We could have been happy together._

Instead, she had treated their love like a game; Michael was her teen crush and the start of the exploration of her sexuality. And then she’d treated the woman like a lap dog, picking her up and putting her away as it suited her, while she tried on relationships with men, determined to be ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable.’ Determined to climb the social and political ladders of Melbourne as quickly as possible. It was only happenstance, she realized, that the deMedici boys were all married by the time she hit her teens, or she would probably have attached herself to one of them in an attempt to marry into the family for political reasons. It wasn’t that she hadn’t considered it. Or that several of Michael’s brothers hadn’t come onto her on a number of occasions, despite their marital status. But Michael had been clear, in no uncertain terms, that Erica getting au naturel with any diMedici other than the her was an instant deal breaker. Erica never doubted the sincerity of that declaration and never tested it. In the end, it wasn’t worth it. Michael was her best, best, bestest ever mate forever.

A mate who had never walked away from her before. Erica had done a lot of fucked up stuff in the past; a lot of mean and petty things to Michael in particular. But the lanky brunette never seemed to take Erica seriously in that regard. Always scooped her up like a child, kissing and cuddling the meanness, the pettiness away. Or she gave her blonde mate some tantrum-ing space and circled back when the coast was clear, chumming it up as if nothing had happened. It worked for both of them.

But she’d said bloody horrible things to Michael earlier. Things that should never have come out of her mouth. Things that she knew had eviscerated her mate, although she was powerless to stop the tirade when it was happening. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think in that moment. The only things that existed inside her were rage against… something… and fear of losing Franky. She lashed out at the nearest target. She’d never been so scared in her life. As she sobbed in the shower, she was still afraid. And angry. But now she was alone. Without Michael. And without Franky.

************************************

When she woke again, bright sunlight streamed into the room and she blinked against the harsh glare. Yawning, she shifted in the cot, turning toward Franky and sat up quickly as she saw the doctor and two attendings checking the younger woman’s vitals and hanging new IV bags.

The doctor looked over to Erica as she held a stethoscope to Franky’s chest. When she lifted it away, she addressed the blonde directly. “We’ve taken her off the propofol a few minutes ago, which means she should be sleeping on her own from now on out. The drug will only take minutes to wear off. She’ll then wake up when she’s ready.”

Erica stood quickly, pulling the hand closest to her between her two. “When will that be? Is that days? Hours? Minutes?”

The doctor looked down at Franky, then back at Erica. “It’s completely up to your girl. She’ll know when it’s time for her to come to. Until then, she’ll sleep. And even when she wakes, she still has a lot of recovering to do.”

“How about the swelling on her brain?”

“Gone down completely. Magic, really. Never seen anything quite like it, honestly,” she smiled at Erica. “I take it she’s a bit feisty?”

Erica meant to laugh, but what came out was more of a hoarse choking sound. “You have no idea,” she said. She tried to smile. The corners of her mouth turned up but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Well, against the odds, her brain activity all seems normal. Now you just have to wait.”

Erica sat as the attendings left the room. “Thank you, Doctor…”

“Reign. Avery Reign. I’ll be Ms. Doyle’s primary physician for the duration. Press the button if you need anything. I’d tell you to stop worrying, but I have a feeling it won’t do any good.”

Erica tried to focus on the woman’s features. She was tall -- possibly taller than Michael. Brown-skinned. Curly black hair pulled into a braided mane down her back. Hazel-green eyes that seemed to flash with intelligence and wit. Erica couldn’t tell her age. She could be anywhere from 35 - 60. Her skin was flawless; and even though her hair had only a few strands of gray visible, her eyes belied a level of wisdom well beyond the blonde attorney’s own 33 years. As if the gray was any indicator of any particular age beyond 25. Hell. Erica’d spotted gray in her blonde years ago and had been coloring regularly since.

“I’d tell you to go home, eat something decent and get some rest. But I’m guessing you’re going to be about as good at listening to a Doc’s advice as this one,” she indicated her head at Franky’s sleeping form, “will probably be.”

Erica was inexplicably soothed by the teasing from this medical professional charged with her lover’s care. “You’d be right,” she sighed heavily. “If you’re advising me to leave her, forget it. I’m not going.” She poked her lower lip out stubbornly, wanting to be angry when the doctor laughed outright at her. But she was too tired.

Dr. Reign let her chuckle die its natural death. “Alrighty then, Ms. Davidson. You know where to find me.”

And she was gone.

Erica sat heavily and kissed Franky’s fingers, bouncing up again when she felt an answering pressure from the hand against her lips. She held her breath as she watched Franky’s brow crease, her eyelids flutter, but not quite open. The blonde leaned over and pressed butterfly kisses to Franky’s eyelids, her cheeks, then her lips. The creased brow relaxed. Erica waited several anxious minutes, but there wasn’t a hint of any more movement. She sat back down and retrieved her mobile without letting go of her lover.

She figured she should at least call Bridget. And try to find Franky’s father.

*********************************

The next morning as Erica again blinked into the bright morning light, she sat up on the cot and looked across the room. Bridget Westfall lay curled up in the chair there, snoring softly. The ravaged remnants of a surprisingly refreshing nosh basket of cheese, wine, fruit, bread and cured meats sat at her feet. Erica hadn’t had the energy to be annoyed at how congenially she and Bridget conversed the evening before as they discussed Franky’s progress and prognosis. Honestly, Erica had been relieved to have the company; someone to talk to. Someone who knew how she felt without her having to try to explain anything. Someone who could commiserate; someone who felt as strongly about Franky’s recovery as she did. Someone who could explain to her in layman’s terms what was really going on and what to expect for the foreseeable future of Franky’s recovery. Neither of them had had any success contacting Franky’s father; but they had spent the evening in companionable sharing of Franky anecdotes. Erica smiled at the sleeping woman slumped in the chair; wondering how long before she’d want to scratch her eyes out again.

She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back and emitting a somewhat noisy yawn as she finally turned check on Franky. And found bleary green eyes focused on her face. 

Her breath caught as she sat gently on the edge of the bed and pulled the younger woman’s fingers against her lips. She forced back the torrent of tears threatening to storm forth. “Franky,” she whispered against thin, papery dry digits.

Franky’s brow furrowed and she blinked several times. “Oi, Err…,” her voice was raspy. “Head fuck’n ‘rts. Got s’methin’?” She tried to swallow. “Water?” 

The blonde looked toward the pitcher and cup on the other side of the bed, where Bridget was now standing and pouring, passing the plastic container across to her. Franky eyed Bridget warily. 

Bridget pushed a lock of hair from Franky’s forehead, gently avoiding the bandage that hid stitches in the top of her scalp. “Hey there, kiddo,” she said softly.

Franky stared at her a moment longer, then turned her attention back to Erica, reaching for the cup of water. When she realized she couldn’t hold it on her own she let Erica hold the cup to her lips as she sipped slowly. 

She let her hand rest atop the blonde’s, holding onto her even when Erica pulled the cup away after Franky signaled she was finished drinking. With the other hand, the blonde had activated the morphine pump and the crease in the brunette’s brow was already easing.

Franky closed her eyes. She was disoriented. Couldn’t quite remember what had landed her in the infirmary. But it must have been good if Erica was here. _Oh yeah._ But she was still going to ask. She wanted to hear it. “Why are you here,” she rasped out, “with me?” The corner of her mouth turned up. The euphoria of the drugs was hitting her hard. Her cocky bravado came back in full force, despite knowing she must look like a horror show. 

Erica smiled for the first time since Martin had shown up in her office on campus the day before. _Shit. She’s fine. She’s totally fine._ “Let’s see. Why am I here,” Erica repeated, looking across at Bridget who was watching Franky closely. “Because I love you? Because you were almost killed and there’s nowhere else I’m going to be while you’re hurt?” She leaned over and kissed Franky’s forehead. 

Franky’s trademark cocky smile appeared as her eyes closed. “Mmmmmm,” she murmured, falling asleep. “I knew it, Miss Davidson.”

“Franky!” Bridget said loudly, jolting the younger woman’s eyes open in startled confusion. 

Erica frowned, as did Franky, who peered across at her from half-closed lids, her face now turned toward Bridget. “Oi, doc! What the fuck?”

“Franky, do you know who I am?” She pulled Franky’s chin toward her and bent over, whipping a pen light out of her pocket and forcing Franky’s closest eye fully open with spread fingers.

“Bridget!” Erica exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Franky, look at me…” 

“Get off me!” Franky tried to flail at her, but her broken arm closest to Bridget was strapped to her own chest and Erica held the other hand. She pulled away from the blonde and swatted feebly at the pen light in her face. “Fuck off!”

“Dr. Westfall,” Erica started. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing!The only reason…” She stopped, indignant, as Bridget held a hand up in her face.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“You flashing that fucking light in my face.” Her eyes were closed, but her voice was definitely stronger. “Erica! Come on! Get her out of here please?” Her voice was falling away as the morphine did it’s work.

“What do you remember, Franky?”

Erica opened her mouth to rebuke Bridget again, but Bridget stopped her speaking a second time with a hand up and a harsh glare.

“Red,” Franky said softly. “Red zit.”

“Red,” Bridget repeated. “Red is what, Franky?”

“Top dog,” she said clearly, her eyes closed, falling into a deep sleep.

***********************************************

In Michael’s case, sleep was turning out to be a problem.

She hadn’t slept for the two nights prior, what with planning the little scheme to get Ferguson under control. Then the events following the press conference and Franky in hospital had kept her up a second night. The amount of cocaine she’d ingested today would make a third sleepless night for her. But she didn’t care at the moment. Her mind raced from topic to topic, replaying her morning meetings, reviewing her afternoon calls. Re-examining strategy for a current case; plotting basic strategy for a potential new one. 

And deftly trying to avoid thoughts that felt like ice picks in her brain and gut yet would not leave her be.

She’d been here before and knew she was in serious trouble, but didn’t know how else to to drown Erica’s voice in her head, screaming, blaming her for _everything._ Intellectually she knew there was some failure in her best mate’s logic around what Michael actually had control over. What she could actually do. But psychologically and emotionally she did blame herself for the current state of affairs. She should have been able to prevent this. Failing that, she should be able to fix it.

The last time she’d felt this… Lost? Desperate? Out of control? All of the above? She couldn’t even really name it for herself because last time she had felt this pain was when David had mocked her proposal. Which had not, in point of fact, been a joke. 

They were 19, at university, deeply in love. Michael was certain Erica Davidson felt the same way she did — completely smitten in a forever and ever kind of way. They had been inseparable since primaries and had been in a sexual relationship for nearly five years. Sure, they’d experimented with dating other people — Erica with boys and Michael almost exclusively girls (she never did quite understand the appeal of a penis when attached to a smelly, hairy body that wasn’t attuned to her own sexual gratification)— but had always circled back to emotional and physical intimacy with one another. And through their first year at uni, they hadn’t exactly named their relationship; but neither of them had attempted to seriously date anyone else; they spent all of their time together — hell, Erica practically lived with Michael at the penthouse. And they had sex all the time. It seemed so obvious that they were a couple, that they were made for each other, that she hadn’t even been nervous buying the ring. She still remembered it clear as day.

_They were sitting on a bench on campus in between classes, Dave tucked against her side as they shared a bag of chips. They finished the chips and Michael chucked the wrapper into the garbage about six feet away._

_David jumped up, both fists pumped in the air, yelling, “Score!”_

_Michael had stood up, pulled the ring from her pocket, slipped it on Dave’s finger and said, quietly, “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question._

_David had looked at the ring quizzically, then at her, then back at the ring. And then she laughed, throwing her head back._

_“Oh! My! God! Michael,” she tittered. “You can’t be serious. We’re not gay!” She’d pulled the ring off and thrust it back at her mate, grinning madly. “Fuck off! You want people to think we’re gay? We’re not gay! I’m going to marry a famous politician or be a politician married to a famous actor; and you’re a deMedici — isn’t it like against the creed to be a dyke and not procreate?” She linked her arm through Michael’s and grabbed their backpacks from where they had been sitting as she pulled her best mate down the path toward their next class. “Shit. I bet your mum has your future husband all stacked up and the prenup on file. Fuck — we gotta start dating guys, maybe, right? You think everyone thinks we’re gay? I need a picture perfect husband and 2.5 rugrats if I’m going to run for Senate some day.”_

_It hadn’t been until that moment that she’d realized how one-sided their relationship was. How she was the one always initiating their intimate moments. Declaring her love. Driving their incessant togetherness. David went along and definitely enjoyed the perks of being Michael deMedici’s best mate and lover; but she was also clearly cruising boys all the time. Asking Michael’s opinion of this one or that one. Flirting constantly. She’d even been on several dates but Michael had ignored them since Dave never seemed attached to any of them for more than a few encounters. And she always ended up in Michael’s bed._

_At least that’s what Michael had thought. But could she be sure? Had she really even paid attention to where Erica might be when they hadn’t ended an evening of study or play or whatever together in Michael’s room at the penthouse?_

No, Michael had finally realized back then. She hadn’t really been paying attention. David was not in love with her and maybe wasn’t even a lesbian. Her teenage mind had reeled. The pain of that understanding had been devastating. But Dave hadn’t left her, pushed her away back then. She’d simply started overtly and aggressively dating men and spending less and less time in Michael’s bed. Yet everything else between them had stayed the same, until first year law, when David had met Mark Pearson.

And Michael deMedici had taken a ‘grin and bear it’ attitude toward her feelings for Dave since then, figuring that having a bit of Erica Davidson’s heart was better than having nothing of Erica Davidson at all. She knew that Erica loved her — their bond of friendship was inalienable. But how had she gotten the other part so wrong before?

And what the hell had happened last night?

She’d spent several hours after leaving the hospital manic looping about the moments leading up to David’s outburst; but no new revelations emerged. _She blames me for Franky’s accident. And kicked me out._ There was no other way to imagine or interpret what had happened. Erica had never ordered her away before; pushed her away, physically or emotionally. Sure, they had their moments of disagreement and catty fighting. And as they’d grown up and embarked on separate careers, their intimate friendship had cooled considerably as they moved forward into individual lives that were no longer easily entangled. And things changed significantly after David had become engaged and started living with her fiancé. They had stopped having sex completely. For several years.

Until Dave had taken the social worker position at Wentworth. And started calling Michael to download and process what it was like to be inside a female prison population. The incredibly empowering sense of importance she felt as the women looked up to her; they obvious improvement the women displayed due to Dave's programs. Her growing influence on the prison Director, Channing. And Erica's titillation at the illicit sexual liaisons between the women. These long and intimate conversations between best mates, Michael had quickly parlayed into late in-person evenings together over dinner and wine several times a month, until once again, Erica Davidson was in her bed. Naked. That had happened after she’d started musing about one special charge, Franky Doyle.

Dave had never outright said why she left her job so abruptly back then, but Michael had guessed, since her mate had spent nearly a month in her bed surrounding that business — the departure from Wentworth and the jarring rush to marriage to Mark that had been put off for nearly 8 years at that point. And then Erica regularly visited Michael’s bed during the marriage.

Until Franky had come out of prison and back into Dave’s life. Which Michael hadn’t really thought much of until she got the call that Dave needed her council for a divorce from Pearson. Even then, she had no illusion that Dave would want to be with her; but she was taken aback to learn that Dave did want to be exclusive with Franky Doyle. And then she’d met Franky Doyle and understood why. Franky was a remarkable woman. Michael got it. She could easily be in love with Franky too.

What she didn’t at all understand was Dave’s behavior in hospital and why it hurt so much. They were both frayed, traumatized by Franky’s accident. Hell, she’d witnessed it. Almost beaten the life out of the guy who’d run Franky down; and held Franky while she was bleeding out on the asphalt. It was horrifying. The images of the younger woman’s bashed in head and mangled body. All the blood… on Michael’s hands, on her clothes… Surely Dave understood how upset _she_ was about all of it. Her inability to keep them all safe notwithstanding, she’d seen a friend, colleague, her best mate’s partner nearly killed. Not everyday visuals for Michael deMedici. 

Normally, accidents, attacks, damage to herself, her people, her business — these things caused her to retrench, dig in, mount an aggressive offensive. And she thought she had done that with her little stunt with Franky and Ferguson at the hospital only yesterday. She had threatened Joan Ferguson. Put a pistol in the woman’s mouth. She had seen her fear; smelled it — the woman had vacated her bowels when Michael had pulled the trigger in her mouth on an empty chamber. Yet less than 24 hours later, Franky was nearly dead. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence — that car and its driver were obviously targeting Franky. Could it be something else from Franky’s past she didn’t know? Cher had done a very thorough background long ago, when Erica had first admitted her infatuation with the green-eyed charmer. And had kept it updated. Had they missed something?

She paced in front of her desk, trying to keep at bay the haunting images of Franky’s damanged body and the sharp pain of David’s rejection, her mind spinning wildly fueled by the drugs. She continued to pace and twirled a fountain pen between her fingers as she tried to piece together how exactly it could have happened between yesterday and today that Joan Ferguson could order a hit. She had no phone. No access to any media at all — not even a telly in the hospital room. Michael stared at the pen in her fingers. She loved fountain pens; the way the ink flowed smoothly from the sharp nib. She stopped to examine the inlaid mother-of-pearl around the cap. Pulled the cap off. It needed to be cleaned, she realized as she resumed her pacing and put the cap back on the pen, again spinning it absent-mindedly in one hand.

Ferguson was the most logical explanation. But how? What had…. _Shit. The money. We opened up her cash flow yesterday. A payment must have moved. Why didn’t Cher notify me of this?_ She picked up her mobile intent on raging at her hacker associate, then dropped it abruptlyas the wave of fury was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss; a sense of bleakness so devastating it almost dropped her to her knees. 

Erica.

Dave.

David.

Everything.

Nothing.

She sat down in her chair hard, her hands shaking as she reached for her drawer and the little vial inside of it. She tapped a bit of powder onto the small bit of mirror she pulled from the drawer with the vial and tightened the rolled-up hundred-dollar bill she’d been using as a straw. She placed her nostril against it, head bent down over her desk just as the door opened and Cher walked in.

She sniffed one line, lifting her other hand up to give Cher her middle finger as she pivoted to inhale a second line of coke. 

“What?” She pushed her paraphernalia back into her drawer, closing it. 

Cher remained stoically by the door, expression neutral. “When we unfroze the bank account, a check for $50,000 was issued and went by post to a rental box in Wendouree main post office. I’ve been watching it, waiting to see who came to pick it up. No one came. The check is still in the box. Can’t tell who owns the box — none of the office’s records of box rentals are electronic. I’ll have to break in or pay someone.”

“Do it.”

A minute passed. Then another. Cher didn’t move but continued to stare at her boss.

“What else?”

“Michael…”

She looked like hell and she knew it. “Shut up and do your job. Now get out.”

“Part of my job is looking after you.”

Michael closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, sighing heavily. She stood up with her briefcase and mobile and moved quickly to her office door, brushing past Cher as if she was no longer there. As she passed her assistant's desk, she barked orders at the matronly woman.

“Find Hallie. Or Callie. Whatever that blonde supermodel’s name is who was at my table at the association gala last month. Book the jet and get me Shanthara from tonight through Tuesday. Have Arturo take my meetings until then.” She was at the lift, waiting for the doors to open take her up to the penthouse to shower and pack a few things. 

She turned back, her gaze zeroing in on Cher who still stood in the doorway of her office. “Find out how Franky is,” she said softly. And then she was gone.


	18. The Way We Weren't

Franky lay still with her eyes closed. Everything fucking hurt. She was just waking up and was already clear that her pain meds needed to be kicked up a notch, but she didn’t move a muscle. Because Erica Davidson was pressing her lips against Franky’s brow.

She’d been alert for a few days, and even managed to make it to the toilet on her own yesterday — thank Jesus for that. The fucking catheter _fucking_ _sucked hairy balls._ She understood now that she was no longer in prison; that she’d even managed to finish law school. But she didn’t remember any of it. The last thing she remembered was duking it out with Red. Holding up Red’s hand, anointing her “Queen Bea.”

And while she was still mostly sleeping a lot, she wasn’t so worried about the loss of memory. Being out of fucking Wentworth was a gift that she was not going to bemoan. Hell — she’d give all fucking 28 years of memory to be out of prison. So this was fine. But she was still disoriented and on edge. She didn’t have a memory of where she lived, her day-to-day life, her career. All she remembered was the predation, violence and anxiety of prison life. It was a miracle, actually, that she’d been too sedated and weak to respond to the myriad of people touching her when she was half-in and half-out of sleep over the past couple of days, or they may have had to restrain her.  She had, at least, sort of adjusted to not needing to be physically defensive while sleeping.

And while her psyche still maintained an ingrained, edgy flight-or-fight readiness to retreat or pounce, her muscle memory with Erica Davidson seemed completely different. Miss Davidson was by her side, 24-7. She was tender. Openly caring. Solicitous. And Franky craved her touch. Like now. Those kisses made her feel all mushy inside, like she wanted to curl up in Erica’s arms and cry like a baby. Which didn’t at all mesh with the last time she’d seen Erica, or remembered seeing her; before the former governor had disappeared from the prison without a word. Disappeared from Franky’s life. Now she was here constantly — didn’t seem to have left for more than a couple of hours at a time since Franky had regained consciousness three days ago. 

She had definitely stiffened a bit since the full extent of Franky’s memory loss became clear. Those first couple of days, Erica had been practically ready to get into the bed with her, touching her. Kissing her. _And didn’t she say she loved me when I first woke up?_ Franky’s brain had cleared enough and her energy was coming back enough that she was ready to assert herself again as the primary actor in her own life. If she could just get more information about who she was now. Who her mates were. Her allies? Her enemies? And what the fuck had she been doing with Erica? And for how long?

She smelled the blonde’s unique scent — citrusy. Sweet. And something a little earthy underneath it. Her own natural body odor. It was familiar and comforting to her senses though her skin tingled with electricity at the proximity of that body.She tried not to smile as she opened her eyes just as Erica’s hand hovered near her face, as if to caress her. Erica froze, wide eyed, her nose only inches from Franky’s.

“Have I seen you naked?” The answer was in the bright red flush that instantly suffused Erica’s face. And the shy smile.

The blonde backed away from the patient, seating herself in the chair she’d been occupying for the past several days. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her smile widened.

Franky grabbed the button for the pain meds and mashed it several times. It only worked up to four times, but pushing at it repeatedly — way beyond the fourth dose — made her feel better. She dropped that, then reached for the remote that controlled the bed so she could move into a seated position. Her ass was sore. She was ready to get up and walk around a bit, but still needed to take it slowly. Broken arm, broken ribs, hairline fracture in the collarbone and head injury. At least her legs were still pretty much in working order, if not seriously contused in spots.

She took a deep breath. “Come on, Erica,” she mock whined, waiting for the morphine to kick in as she breathed slowly through the pain which accompanied her move into the upright position. “Why be so coy? Aye? Either we’re fucking or we aren’t.”

Erica’s sigh was exaggerated. She stood up to pour Franky a fresh cup of water. “The Doctor said…”

“Yeah. Fuck her.” Dr. Westfall, apparently, had been her shrink for a wee bit in prison and seemed quite eager to get inside the ex-con’s brain again. Franky didn’t feel like she needed that kind of help but her surgeon and primary care physician, the hot-as-fuck Dr. Reign, advised it. The shrink was kinda sexy anyway; and very easy to talk to, actually. Franky was still trying to wrap her head around her changed life status; that she even rated a first class physician in one of the best hospitals in the state. And a private room. And that her probable girlfriend was a professor.

She knew Erica wasn’t opposed to her talking to the shrink, though Franky could sense some tension when Dr. Westfall had visited — daily — or they talked about her. There seemed to be more there. More pieces Franky may never get back. It had only been a few days, but the brunette was very clear that while she still had major pieces to sort out about her life post-Wentworth, she definitely wanted to pick up wherever she and Erica had left off before her accident. Whatever had the blonde sitting by her for days on end, it was more than “mates.” And she desperately wanted to understand. If Dr. Westfall could help get the memories back, the brunette figured she might as well try.

The whole amnesia thing was strange: a lot of day-to-day mundane information was still in her head. She remembered the passwords for her bank account and her email accounts — sort of. It worked better if she didn’t try to actually visualize or vocalize the passwords but just let her fingers move across the keys. Her brain seemed to allow the connection to flow between the visual stimuli of whatever internet page she was on and the corresponding password letters on the keyboard under her fingers, even if her brain did not quite give her exactly what those words were up front.The legalese from her online documents and exchanges all made sense, so even though she didn’t remember being in law school, she still seemed to be a trained and qualified barrister. She didn’t remember specific cases, but she understood the mechanics of them, what the legal strategies were and she even had a sense of what she might have done to ‘work’ on them. The little mundanities were all in there. The psychologist, however, had advised Erica to give Franky mostly need-to-know information; to encourage her to try to put the pieces together on her own.

It was the big chunks — people, places, events — that had completely disappeared. More than three years of them. She now had an entirely new set of mates, a stellar career, and a fucking gorgeous uni professor former governor hovering. Not a peep in the memory banks about that. She couldn’t even tell you where she lived right now. But she did have nearly $20,000 in her bank account, including a recent salary direct deposit from deMedici Law of $8,000. Was she really netting eight thousand a month? 

The meds were finally taking the edge of the searing arcs of pain lancing through various parts of her body. She sat fully up, pulled back the bedcovers and swung her legs gingerly off the bed.

“I don’t think it’s super helpful for me to try to guess what’s been happening the last few years. What if my memory never comes back?” She looked up at Erica, trying not to drown in those blue eyes. The woman could melt steel by proximity, she was so sexy. Even without make-up and clearly disheveled. Franky felt a little dizzy looking at her.

“Whoa…” Erica said, standing up in front of her, effectively blocking her way. “What are you doing? Your lunch will be here in a few minutes. And it’s only been three days, Franky. You need to give yourself some time.”

Erica was just out of reach, Franky noticed as she lifted her hand up from the bed. “I need to pee and I’d like to take a walk before then. Help me up?” She smiled, batting her lashes at Erica playfully. She could see the veiled desire in the blonde’s eyes, and she resolved to get to the bottom of their relationship status. Soon. The doctor said she could be released in less than a week and she wanted to know where she and Erica stood. Aside from Erica at her bedside constantly, Bridget Westfall had been to see her three days straight and was clearly attracted to her. So was Ghislane, the uni student who was apparently her roommate. She was cute — petite, red-head, curves in all the right places — but not really Franky’s speed. 

And then there was the girl with the dragon-breath attitude, who was really intriguing but quite hostile. But she came as an attachment to the stunningly beautiful runway model-like brunette. Michael deMedici, one of the hottest barristers at the most prestigious firm in town, was apparently her boss who had come to see her once. The visit was brief and it seemed calculated to occur when Erica was not there. She hadn’t spoken many words, but the emotion in her eyes was… haunting. She’d assured Franky that her job would be there whenever she was ready to come back. And that she would continue to be paid while on medical leave, since her accident occurred on deMedici time. Then she’d squeezed Franky’s hand and left. 

Yeah, there was definitely something else going on there. Franky hoped it was sex. Screwing one’s superiors was a mistake Franky seemed intent on continuing to make. But she had a thing for powerful women, and deMedici oozed it. Besides being drop-dead breathtakingly beautiful and rich as fuck, deMedici seemed an entirely different kind of challenge than the ex-governor. If Erica wasn’t working out for whatever reason, this woman would be a hell of a trade in. Or maybe she was already managing both. Either way, she really, really wanted the inside scoop on all of this as soon as possible. Fuck what Dr. Westfall said about filling in her own blanks. She wanted to get her new, seemingly awesome, life back stat.

She returned her attention to the present moment as Erica held out her arm for leverage. Franky grabbed it, pulling herself up and overcompensating so that she fell roughly against the blonde, wrapping her uninjured arm about her waist, pulling her in close and snaking her hand down to Erica’s arse. 

“Have you seen me naked?” She whispered this across Erica’s lips. She had her answer when Erica again flushed bright red, inhaled sharply and her lower lip between pearly whites as she pulled Franky’s hand from her butt.

“Franky!” She stepped out of the embrace, flustered and a bit angry. “You need to focus on healing.”

Franky rolled her eyes as she turned slowly, pulling her IV stand with her. “You’re making it too easy, love,” she answered, refraining from going all Marvin Gaye on her girl. But then she stopped and turned, lifting up two digits. “I bet you already know what I can do with just my mouth and these babies,” she poked her fingers at Erica. Then turned and disappeared into the loo as the blonde sputtered behind her.

The ex-con brushed her teeth and mused on the ex-governor’s overt lust for her. Attachment, even. Why the hell else would she be sitting by her bedside night and day? They had to be in something relatively serious. Plus, only moments earlier when she’d pressed their bodies together, she’d felt a sharp pang of arousal herself as soft curves met her firm muscles. _At least I’ve stayed in shape. Kept my girlish figure._ She could almost taste Erica’s skin in her mouth in those few seconds of contact. Why was the other woman being so coy?

She rinsed her mouth and looked in the mirror. The swelling on the left side of her face had gone down considerably and the visible bruising was minimal now. The bare patch atop her head where they had shaved to punch her skull then make stitches was already growing a bit of fuzz. It was nicely covered with a bandage and a bandana, anyway. Her eyes were clear and her smile was bright, though. Her legs weren’t shaking and it wasn’t exhausting just standing there in front of the sink. She had more energy than she’d felt since she woke up from the coma. 

Moving slowly out of the ensuite, she beckoned to Erica as she inclined her head toward the door. “Walk with me, Miss Davidson?”

As they made their way down the corridor arm-in-arm, Franky did her best to flirt with every cute nurse on the ward, both entertaining and annoying Erica with her exuberance and brashness. This dynamic was familiar to them both as they fell into an easy banter of Franky saying something inappropriate and Erica chastising her half-heartedly, smiling all the while. 

By the time they made their way back to Franky’s room, she could feel the residual ache in her ribs. She’d walked further today than the day before and knew it was straining her healing midsection — thank god for the morphine — but the doc had said to do as much as she could handle. She really wanted to get out of the fucking hospital. She wanted to experience the freedom she couldn’t quite remember. Being in the hospital was kind of like being in prison. She was jonesing to experience the Wentworth-free life she’d been in for the past two and a half years.

Her stomach growled. Franky eyed the orderly pushing the food cart. She was starving. And all she remembered at this point was prison food and now hospital food. Which was a damn site better than prison food. But still… What she wouldn’t give for some flame-grilled chicken from Operto.

She leaned on Erica heavily as they approached the door to her room, allowing herself to be led back to the bed. As the orderly exited the room, Franky turned as if to sit on the bed but instead, pressed herself along Erica’s front, hooking her good arm about her neck and leaning in for a snog. 

Erica quickly dodged, turning her face down but not moving from the embrace. She rested her hands lightly on Franky’s hips as Franky’s lips pressed against her forehead, instead of her mouth where her former charge had been aiming. “Franky,” she said quietly. “Please.”

Franky furrowed her brow, sliding her hand into Erica’s hair then along her jaw, tilting her face up. Dismayed to see unshed tears shining in those baby blues. “What is it?” She stilled herself as Erica closed her eyes. _What the fuck?_

“This is hard, Franky. You nearly died. And I can’t…” She took a deep breath. “I want you to get better as soon as possible. I want you to have the time and space to figure out what you want…”

“I want you to kiss me, Erica. That’s all I want right now.” All Franky remembered were the heated fantasies she had indulged at Wentworth. She had a lot of catching up to do. What could possibly be the hold up here?

“But the doctor said…”

“Fuck the doc. What are you afraid of? I _know_ we’ve been fucking.” She wasn’t sure if it was memory or arrogance and didn’t care. She was starting to feel a desperate need to reclaim her sexuality. Her life. To start to feel real again. To feel whole. She wanted to feel Erica Davidson. She leaned in again.

Franky had expected a little fight. So she went for it aggressively taking the blonde’s mouth with the privilege of ownership, swiping her tongue across supple lips, which opened for her, inviting her in. She felt a spark of electricity from the back of her mouth to the top of her head and pulled back, startled when she realized Erica was not fighting her. This time there was no resistance. In fact, the blonde was leaning in for more. 

But Franky stopped just short of her goal as she noticed a single tear making its way down the blonde’s cheek. “What’s wrong” She whispered, her heart aching inexplicably. Was she pushing too hard? Was she hurting Erica? _Jesus! Can I just get a kiss? What the fuck is going on?_

Erica’s answer was to crash their lips together, gently urging Franky’s hips square to her own but careful of her bandaged ribs. Squeezing the firm bum under her hands gently she left no doubt as to the intensity of her desire. She sucked at Franky’s tongue hungrily, moaning as the brunette’s fingers tightened, painfully, in her hair. 

Franky was immediately enraptured by this contact. It was so much more… fiery than their last kiss. The one she remembered at Wenworth. She was frustrated by the broken arm secured to her chest with the sling, creating way too much space between their bodies. She pushed her thigh in between the blonde’s as she battled for domination of her mouth, both annoyed and inflamed that Erica seemed to be giving as good as she got. Who was on top in this relationship anyway? The brunette wondered only briefly before until she lost all semblance of rational thought.

Then a wave of severe dizziness weakened her knees and she collapsed onto the bed with a bit of a jarring, ‘unh,’ her ribs protesting. She hadn’t been breathing, she realized, pressing her forehead to Erica’s chest, pulling her flush between her legs with her good arm. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ She was trembling, and wasn’t sure whether it was because of her body’s frailty or the onslaught of emotion that now threatened to drown her as she squeezed her lids shut against the tears threatening to downpour. She took a deep breath, willing away the sob that wanted to explode from her chest. _What the fuck is this?_

Erica’s hands stroked her hair gently and she felt soft lips atop her head. “I’m sorry, Franky. I’m so sorry. Are you right?” The blonde continued to run her fingers through brunette locks. “It’s too soon. I’m sorry.” She tried to pull Franky’s face into view.

The younger woman pressed her open mouth against Erica’s t-shirt, still fighting the urge to cry, then turned her face, pressing the uninjured side against the lower curve of her breasts. _What the bloody hell is wrong with me? I want this! I need this! She wants me, dammit. Why can’t I…_

“Franky, this has to be really confusing,” Erica soothed from over her head, continuing to caress her. “I’m not sure what your body remembers, but it might be different than what your head does and doesn’t.” She pressed another kiss to the top of Franky’s head. “And you’re body is also traumatized.”

She sighed heavily before continuing. “We are very… compatible. Physically.” She tried to push back a bit, create some space between them but Franky held her tightly. “But I shouldn’t be jumping on you like this. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to be in control around you sometimes.”

_Compatible. Is that what you call this?_ She had a brief vision of Boomer and some of their more physical mock-wrestle sessions in prison. That was _compatible_. A pet was _compatible_. This was… a fucking inferno. The tightness in her chest increased slightly even though she chuckled, pushing against Erica’s hips now and swiping at her eyes. She scooted backwards onto the bed, trying to make herself comfortable against the upraised back.

Not a game, though. Not so funny, how vulnerable Erica Davidson now made her feel. Suddenly she was defensive. “Compatible,” she said, a bit acidly, not making eye-contact. “You’ve been here 24-7 since I woke up. Maybe we’re both a little compatible-d out right now. Why don’t you go home, Erica?” She knew she was being mean, but needed some space to get herself together. And she now wasn’t so sure she was ready to jump back into whatever they’d been doing. It felt pretty intense, even just from that one kiss. Had she become exclusive? Monogamy wasn’t a universe she was sure she was ready to contemplate. Besides, wasn’t this all happening a little fast? She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as she realized that this was exactly what Dr. Westfall had been saying all along; and what Erica had tried to remind her of a few minutes ago. _Live in your now. Don’t try to feel something you don’t because someone said you should. Put the pieces together yourself._

She sensed Erica’s mood shift from one of tenderness and lust to wounded and… something else. Waiting for the blonde to respond, she examined her fingernails, listening to the other woman breathe. Uncomfortable with the silence, she pushed again. “Seriously. I’m getting better every day. You should take a break. ’S not like I’m going anywhere.” She sighed, then finally looked the other woman in the face. She saw the pain of rejection. She also saw anger.

Erica opened her mouth to protest. To soothe. To curse. Then decided to take her leave before Franky said something else to hurt her. “Fine,” she said firmly, gathering her things. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, Franky.” Then she was gone.

Franky was alone for the first time in three days. At first she sighed in relief, just breathing in and out. Freedom. Solitude. Then her mind wandered back to kissing Erica, the intense yet unexpected emotion of it. The wounded look as she had left a few moments ago. Franky pressed the heel of her hand between her eyes. She felt horrible at the way she’d treated the blonde. And schizo, the way her emotions were zigging all over the place.

Without thinking, she picked up her mobile and speed dialed. Bridget. Dr. Westfall.

“ _Franky? Are you right?”_

The psychiatrist’s voice sounded high and tinny over the mobile. “I’m not sure why I’m calling you, Gidge,” Franky spoke solemnly.

_“It’s not unusual to have your body remember things your brain cannot in these types of amnesiac events. We’re mates, Franky. We talk. You often call when you are troubled. Did something happen?”_

“I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

_“How are you feeling? Is Erica still there with you?”_

“Oh, fucking hell! I’m not doing this. Sorry to bother you…” Franky moved to end the call, but heard the other woman entreating on the other end of the line.

_“Wait! Franky, just give us a few minutes.”_

Franky wanted to hang up. But she also found herself feeling lonely without Erica. What the fuck did she have to lose, really? “Erica left. I told her to leave. And now I wish she was here. And I feel like a lunatic.”

_“What happened?”_

Franky found herself telling the psychologist everything that happened over the past few hours. The walk. The planned seduction. The kiss, and it’s effect on her. And her angry reaction, which caused her to want to hurt Erica. And she found it wasn’t hard talking to Gidget, like she thought it would be. It didn’t make her angry. It didn’t make her feel defensive. It felt like a slow release of pressure, that moments ago had her feeling like she was going to pop.

She talked about this too — how easy it was to talk with the psychologist and how conflicted that made her feel. Dr. Westfall advised her to try to separate her brain rationalization from her gut reactions; and try to focus more on her gut reactions. Bridget told her she’d done a lot of work on her anger and self sabotage issues while in prison and then shortly after leaving. Having forgotten all of that, her prison intellect and old instincts were now at war with her new sense of what was right for herself. Her new body with new patterns of behavior and muscle memory was getting conflicting instructions from her Wentworth brain. It had to be confusing and disorienting. It didn’t mean she was crazy. Just out of synch.

_“Why are you calling me Gidget, Franky?”_

Franky stared at the mobile, then put it back to her ear. “Did I say that?” She was slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Dr. Westfall.” The sound of the psychiatrist laughing dissipated the final vestiges of her sour mood. She liked making the older woman laugh.

_“It’s fine. You used to call me Gidget. I don’t think you called me Dr. Westfall or Bridget more than once or twice after the day we met. Unless you were angry with me. It was always Gidget. Gidge.” She was silent for a moment letting that sink in. “So your memories are in there, Franky. You just need to give yourself time to access them again.”_

_********************************************_

Erica stewed as she tooled along in her Mercedes roadster to her St. Kilda flat. As she got closer, she detoured past it onto State Route 33 toward Hampton. She was exhausted and angry and hurt. Erica had promised herself she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Franky’s recovery — especially sexual things; and Franky had just behaved insufferably. It was like they were back at Wentworth all over again. Except they weren’t.

She knew she just needed a good sleep and a decent meal before she became hysterical over all of this. But she couldn’t help the hard kernel of fear from growing in her belly. This was absolutely going to go all pear-shaped. She knew it. Some kind of karmic retribution. Just as she’d come to a healthy, solid place in her personal and professional life, the carpet had been pulled completely out from under her. There was absolutely no guarantee that Franky was going to remember _anything_ of the past year, let alone the past three years. 

Hell. She probably deserved this.

Early Wentworth Franky; predatory, cheeky, brash Franky. Top Dog Franky was now out in the free world with her. And Dr. Westfall. And Michael deMedici. And an entire campus of co-eds under Erica’s care. And all of the young stylish associates at deMedici Law. Hell, the blonde had watched, awe-struck in all honesty, as the brunette — barely conscious — had even given Cher an appraising glance.

Michael. _Fuck_. She needed to call Michael. Apologize. And give her an update on Franky, even though she probably had all the information she wanted to have about them both. She reached for her mobile and got her best mate’s voicemail. She left a playful, teasing yet conciliatory message with a request for a call back. _Maybe getting Franky back into the office will help her remember. She absolutely adored being at deMedici law and spent most of the last month there._

Erica had been so careful with the younger woman. For years, Erica had tried to do the honorable thing — left her career as governor; refrained from fraternizing with a student and cheating on her marriage; even divorced her husband — so as to have a clear path, a clear conscience with Franky Doyle. They had just begun to explore their kink… A dry sob escaped her and she pulled her car to the side to wait for the panic attack to subside, rolling down the windows to breath fresh air rather than recycled air conditioning. Erica wasn’t sure she could do without the younger woman anymore. She needed Franky in her life. She needed _sex_ with Franky. She’d finally _got_ Franky. The proper way. And yet only moments ago, Franky had sent her away.

As she got her breathing under control, she pictured her lanai, herself on it with a glass of wine with Franky by her side. A scene that had played out numerous times over the past six months. She connected her mobile to the sound system and pulled up one of Franky’s playlists, opened the sunroof and cranked up the volume. She smiled bitterly as she made a u-turn back onto the highway toward home, singing along with Ella Fitzgerald.

_Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam_

_Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunchtoday_

_She’s sorry to be delayed_

_But last evening on lover’s lane she strayed, madam_

_Miss Otis regrets she’s unable to lunch today_

Oh yes. This was all going to end badly. The blonde was certain.

*******************************************

Michael saw the incoming call from David and ignored it. Except to immediately delete the message without listening to it. She watched the model sniff a second line of coke from her belly and stroked her long, platinum hair, tugging at it, pulling the woman up along her body into a messy kiss. Callie? Hallie? Sally? was pliant in her arms — eager to please. 

DeMedici was bored as fuck. And jittery. Binging on coke for too long tended to have this effect on Michael and she didn’t particularly like it. She flipped the young woman to be underneath her, aggressively squeezing a full breast, then replacing her palm with her lips, sucking hard at the pebbled flesh. She slapped pencil-like thighs apart, roughly palming the model’s nether-lips, which weren’t as moist as Michael expected. She pulled back enough to look the woman in the face. 

The usually photo-ready visage was bleary, the after effect of nearly 24-hours of continual cocaine and liquor abuse. The eyes blood-shot and widened slightly as Michael stared at her. The woman feigned a smile but Michael could see the underlying beginnings of fear.

DeMedici sat up. “Jesus,” she said more to herself than the other woman. “What the fuck are we doing?” She felt a light touch, hesitant fingers at the base of her spine. 

The other woman cleared her throat. “Are you okay? Should I…”

“No,” Michael interrupted. _It’s not you. Jesus. Now even I’m a cliche._ “Stop. We need to stop.”

“I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have…”

“Just shut it!” Michael stood up from the bed, her agitation growing. She wanted more blow but knew she was just around the corner from a psychotic break. _Been there before, not eager to return._ Besides. That would mean she was still upset about Erica Davidson. And she wasn’t. She was completely over the girl formerly known as her best mate. No. Done with that. She had a gorgeous, vacuous blonde in her bed; she was high as fuck; living the dream. 

Even in her own head it was all dripping with sarcasm.

The statuesque brunette pulled a silk robe from the floor where she’d dropped it no-one-knows how many hours earlier. “I gotta go,” she pulled the smooth fabric up her arms, tightening the belt around her waist. “I’m gonna shower then head back to Melbourne. You can stay, invite some mates if you’d like.” 

Michael was already at the bedroom door, eyeing the outdoor shower across the lounge on the lanai. It was the wee hours of the morning so there would be a good chill in the air. She could use the a little something to clear her brain.

Before she reached the sliding glass door, a stick-woman figure of platinum fury appeared in front of her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She poked Michael in the chest with a bony finger. “I cancelled a gig for you and you’re dropping me like a bad habit less than 48 hours later?! That’s $25,000 I blew off for you, Michael deMedici!”

Something was strangely familiar about this encounter. “What? Oi, babe. I’m sorry. I’ll cut you a check and you can stay. All week. My treat.” Her mind flitted away from the current scene, where she didn’t want to be right now, to work. Cher. Franky. _Ferguson. That bitch is still out there. Need to talk to Cher._ She turned to go back to the bedroom and retrieve her mobile. Those long, thin fingers that had so recently been delivering pretty well in the coked-out sex department closed around her arm.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” She was now yelling at the billionaire. CallieHallieSally spun Michael around and planted both palms on her chest, pushing hard. “You can’t keep doing this to me! You can’t! If you leave now, don’t you ever fucking call me again!”

Michael stared at the woman. She had been a pretty consistent go-to lately. And fun. Why couldn’t she remember the woman’s name? And why was she so goddamn angry?

“You treat me like garbage!” Her voice was high, bordering on hysterical. “I am _not_ trash, Michael! I don’t need this from you! We’re good together and I care about you,” her face crumpled, mouth bending into a petulant pout, eyes searching the floor now. 

_Oh what the actual fuck!?! She better not be crying._ Michael had had enough of temper-tantruming crying blondes. Yet she did recognize her own role in this debacle and saw no reason to further insult the other women. She stepped to her, wrapping her tentatively in her arms, trying desperately to remember a name. “Shhh. I’m sorry, Love. I’ve been a mess lately. Too much going on. One of my key staff was run down by a drunk driver last week. I’m sorry if I haven’t really been myself.” 

The woman sobbed into her shoulder, clinging. “Oh god. I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A splotchy, tear-ridden yet still perfect face with storm gray pupils looked up at Michael beseechingly. Michael kissed her forehead. She wasn’t heartless. And the girl was a good ride. She palmed the back of the woman’s hair, pulling her gently back to her shoulder, feigning affection as she played for time, trying to figure out how to get the fuck out without further histrionics. Her eyes scanned the room and she saw a magazine on the coffee table that, miraculously had this same woman on the cover. _Vogue._ But she couldn’t quite make out the name in small print elsewhere on the cover. She shuffled them over nonchalantly, rocking back and forth in a soothing manner.

“Yeah. I pulled you into the final stages of what has been quite the bender for me,” she took another step closer to the table staring down at the magazine cover. _Callie. Callie Noor. Thank you Jesus._ “I am so sorry, Callie. It’s been a bloody awful go. I should have explained that to you.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Callie murmured against her neck where she was now snuggling appreciatively. “It’s okay. We don’t normally talk about stuff. We just party together. Have good times. But I’m kinda liking it, Michael. You. I might be getting attached over here.” She pressed a kiss to the taller woman’s collarbone.

Michael did her best not to stiffen. Yes, Callie Noor was a covergirl for _Vogue,_ but not the sharpest knife in the drawer and the opposite of relationship material from deMedici’s point of view. She drew in a breath, ready to give her stock ‘easy let down’ spiel. “Look, Love, I…”

The woman pushed off from her, sniffing and giggling softly. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I know I’m being a clingy slag right now. I’m just saying, maybe I’m falling for you a little bit.” She straightened the edges of Michael’s robe in the front. Glancing up at her almost shyly, then back down again, focusing on her fingers moving against Michael’s skin. “I’m letting you off the hook this time.”

She turned to go back to the bedroom. Michael watched her shapely bum retreat, open-mouthed. The barrister hadn’t even needed to back out of that one. Too easy?

The blonde looked back over her shoulder just before she disappeared into the other room. “This time,” she said. “But if you call me again, Michael, I might want more than a quick fuck on a private jet and a weekend at the coast.” Then she was gone.

Michael practically sprinted out to the shower, breathing a deep sigh of relief at the cold air on her skin and in her lungs. She exhaled heavily again when the hot water cascaded over her. She was a bit behind at the office since she had been binging for nearly a week now. Plus there was no excuse for Ferguson still being alive. She really did want to check in on Franky. In person. That accident had scared the heiress more than she’d originally thought. She really had grown attached to the young woman. And the amnesia thing — sheesh! Losing Franky was a serious hitch in her own productivity on several levels. 

She suddenly grabbed the temperature control knob, shutting the hot water off completely. It was time to change this fucked up energy she was in. She stood under the glacial cascade until her teeth started to chatter, then stepped out, realizing she hadn’t brought a towel. She wrapped herself in the silk robe, which now clung to her wet skin uncomfortably. Turning to go back into the flat she saw Callie standing there with a fluffy white bath sheet. She was wrapped in one herself, also freshly showered. She held it out to Michael, smiling demurely, seeming not to notice the blue tinge to her lips.

Michael nodded a thanks at the blonde who turned back toward the bedroom. She’d been planning to slink out without speaking to her. Yeah, it was a dick move; but the _maybe in love_ bit had given the brunette the willies. She crossed the room, drying off as she reached for the house phone to call down for a smoothie with some serious cocaine hangover-curative properties. Then picked up her mobile and called Cher, using her conversation with her associate as a shield from talking to Callie while Michael rummaged through her wardrobe for something to wear on the flight home. 

She was searching for her briefcase when she finally ran out of conversation for Cher. She spun around in the kitchen, finishing off her smoothie when she noticed the blonde standing in the foyer. With her briefcase. _Shit._

Callie smiled. She was wearing a long yellow linen shirt of Michael’s, with her bikini on underneath. She held the item of Michael’s search up for her to retrieve.  


Michael slowly moved toward her trying not to feel like she was walking a gauntlet. The girl _was_ sweet, for christsakes, the attorney admonished herself. They would have gorgeous children, with a little contribution from the deMedici men. They were a stunning couple. Maybe she should consider it. Hell, no one was getting any younger and… 

The blonde leaned in, kissing her tenderly.  “I’m sorry I was such a mess. I knew you were kind of tweaking. I shouldn’t have added to your drama. Just call me again soon, ok?”

Michael nodded at her, taking the proffered satchel. 

Callie kissed her again, this time a little deeper, using her tongue. “And you are going to pay. I’m staying the week and inviting a couple of mates.” Michael smiled at this. The blonde straightened her collar, then tucked a slip of paper into the the front pocket of her slacks.

Michael arched an eyebrow, reaching for the note. “Good. Put everything on my account. And I’ll cover costs for getting them here. Call my assistant when you’re ready to leave and I’ll send the jet for you, aye?” She backed out the door, pleased to see the blonde nodding back at her happily. 

She strode down the hallway toward the stairs to the lobby, reading the missive as she moved. Why not try with Callie Noor? She could do a hell of a lot worse. And the girl’s parents were Arab royalty, so the deMedici’s wouldn’t balk at the pairing.

The note was a cute gesture. But she’d spelled ‘chance’ with an ’s’. _Chanse. Give me a chanse._ Was English her first language? _Jesus! No! Just no! Hot, but dumb as a doornail._ All the non-conversations she’d had with this woman came flooding back to Michael, the vacuous looks. The sex was good and she was excellent arm candy, but that wasn’t enough for deMedici. She paused momentarily before reaching the lobby as her stomach roiled. She stepped out the side door into the cool morning air, waiting for the smoothie to come up. A quick hit would put all the physical discomfort down. But she’d left it all in the flat. She turned to go back up and just as quickly turned back to heave into the bushes. 

Her own damn fault. She was going to either let the detox process run its course or hurtle herself toward a psychotic break. Those were the choices before her at the moment. She took a deep breath, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and headed into the lobby. After she secured a bottle of water from the concierge, who was now calling a taxi for her, she went outside to wait. Time to get her groove back. She would go visit Franky first, see what the memory loss looked like and try to assess when/if she would be coming back to work.

And she tried to ignore the sick feeling in her gut that was not about the abuse she’d subjected her body to over the past week, but about another blonde. A blonde who was not dumb as a doornail. Who could be on the cover of _Vogue_. And who could have given her amazing smart and gorgeous children years ago. 

That was all over now. Time to pull her shit together and move on. She needed to clean up the mess with Ferguson and check on Franky. And no more avoiding the issue: time to set the fucking record straight with David.

*****************************************

Cher easily penetrated the less than secure post office in Wendouree, popping open the mailbox in question without even breaking a sweat. She quickly scanned the items in the box and stuffed them into the messenger bag strapped across her chest and left the building. 

When she was back at her own flat, she steamed open all of the envelopes she’d secured from the post box of Mr. Chuck Smith. _How original._ One of them contained a check for $50,000 from an account that Cher easily matched to one of the many she had discovered, hidden carefully but there nonetheless, in Joan Ferguson’s holdings. She texted Michael, who texted her back almost instantaneously.

_Burn it. Burn it all._


End file.
